


Dead Roses

by Hatsonhamburgers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Exhibitionism, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, My First Fanfic, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Alternating, Plotty, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Samifer - Freeform, Samulet, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Smut, Steven King is my muse, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Voyeurism, destiel smut, so much masturbation, spoilers from lots of seasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 105,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6515194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsonhamburgers/pseuds/Hatsonhamburgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man in black crossed the desert and the hunter followed.</p>
<p>AU canon divergence where Zachariah didn't come back to return Dean to his own time, and he's stuck in End!verse until he can find his way back.  Based off of The Dark Tower series by Steven King.  <br/> </p>
<p>Part 1 of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Dead_Roses">Dead Roses Verse</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so be gentle. Possible trigger warnings: animal hunting, cuts with a knife (not specifically self-harm). I really love The Dark Tower series by Steven King*, so I borrowed some of the plot line. If you haven't read it, please do; I feel it is his masterpiece and it connects most of his other novels into a singular universe. I plan to post at least once a week, and this will most likely end up a trilogy. My beta got too busy, so this is the best I could edit it. I apologize, but if I try and keep editing at this point, I'll destroy the whole thing. xoxoxox
> 
> Steven King is amazing and a genius, and I straight pilfered some of his better plot lines and devices. Artists are taught to copy the masters, and King is king.

The man in black took off across the desert, and the hunter followed. 

The hunter had been in the desert for days, uncertain how many. Water was low, the canteens he had filled at the last abandoned gas station had depleted to one, and it was nearly empty. The decision had to be made to lighten the load; continuing to carry the empty canteens in his pack was burning precious energy. The hunter wipes at his brow out of habit- sweat long dried to salt- and looks at the sun. After 2 pm, he guesses. He has little hope that he will make it to another gas station or town before succumbing to severe dehydration, but he keeps moving forward, his boots shuffling along the hard-packed and cracked earth. 

It had been several days since he had seen evidence of the demon he chased, the smell of sulfur had faded to nothing. There were no other signs, he was sure the demon had covered his trail. He had seen the remnants of small fires where the demon had made camp, but the ashes held no answer, and the cinders had cooled. The possibility of catching up to him was quickly disappearing, and the goal of survival came sharply into focus.

The hunter squints at the horizon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s seen a mirage taunting him. Could this be the demon’s trick? The air shifts and wanders. Colors break apart and reform at will, suggesting the shape of a building, then a tower, then a pond. He blinks and shakes his head, holding his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to refocus. Not that it matters, the distance could be a hundred yards or 12 miles. He closes his eyes again. It was sweet relief from the hot light. He realizes that he’s stopped moving but finds it difficult to care at this point. Maybe a short break, maybe just rest for a second to get his bearings. There’s maybe a few drops of water left, but even that too seems unimportant. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice is screaming, and he waves it off, causing himself to stagger slightly. The motion seems to only cause the voice to get louder, screaming not to stop, not to give up, only a little further. The hunter opens his eyes for a mere second as his legs buckle and he falls to his knees, his hands, his face striking the ground in slow-motion. That second was enough to glimpse the mirage once more, this time in the form of a man in the distance, centered in the blinding light of the desert. He thinks as his eyes slip closed, wouldn’t that just be my luck. After everything, the demon is going to win anyway. Darkness consumes him.

He’s not sure where he is. It’s no longer hot, and he is on his back. He tries to push up onto his elbows, but his muscles are weak and don’t respond. A groan escaped his chapped and split lips, echoing in his ears- the first sound he has heard in weeks. Echoes. It hit him that he is somehow indoors, and laying on what feels like wooden surface.  
“I wasn’t sure you were alive,” a low voice states from his left. The hunter whips his head around reaching for the gun that lives at his side, but the holster is empty. The owner of the voice continues softly. “I’m sorry I disarmed you. I was afraid that if you had another nightmare you might hurt yourself.”  
The hunter waits for the room to stop spinning and opens his eyes again to find just who is it that dared take his Colt from him. He isn’t worried that this is the demon, surely he would be dead if it was. The man who sits against a wall to his left is partly in shadow, but the hunter makes out a slim built man with black hair sticking out at all angles. He is barefoot, and the dress pants and white button-down he wears are wrinkled and dusty. The hunter scans the room quickly for exits, his weapons, and possible water. The man seems to know that and states in that same flat gravelly tone, “Your gun is in that corner. I took the liberty of filling your water container and have placed it to your right. I attempted to pour some in your mouth while you seemed lucid for a moment, but your thrashing prevented my success.”  
The hunter blinks and fumbles over to his right, his hand landing on his remaining canteen. It’s cool and full. He eagerly pulls it to his lips and swallows and promptly chokes, but still manages to get some down his throat. He eyes the man to his left, waiting to see if he comments. He doesn’t.  
Sensing there is no danger at the moment, the hunter closes his eyes again and sleeps.

When he awakes, he is alone. Finally able to push up onto his elbows, he surveys the room. It isn’t large, but appears to be one of the wooden outposts he has encountered in the desert before. The desert was probably cow pastures at some point; the apocalypse had claimed all the green lush fields and starved any remaining cattle- most had been killed by croats when food got low.  
The walls of the building and floor are made of pine, filling the air with the aroma of mummified wood and dust. A rustic stone fireplace lines one wall, with evidence of recent fire. A navy blazer and a tan trenchcoat are carefully draped over a chair- the only furniture in the room. The hunter is laying on the blanket of his bedroll, he guesses the man must have set it up while he was unconscious. There is a pump handle coming out of the floor at the opposite end of the room, presumably where his gun belt is. That explains the water, he thinks, but where did my new buddy go? He turns his head as he hears the thump of feet, then the clatter of wood, on the boards of the porch. The light coming through cracks in the walls tells the hunter that the sun is setting, and he assumes that the man is gathering wood for a fire, which is very necessary to keep from freezing in the desert night.  
The footsteps disappear off the porch and, after a short while, return with another load. The space between trips becomes longer and longer, and the hunter knows his companion has to go further and further to find fuel. The hunter slowly drinks his water, ignoring the pangs of hunger settling in his gut. Wanting to feel more useful (and to size-up his new roommate), he moves to his knees and slowly stands, waits for the room to tilt back in place, and staggers out to the porch. His bare feet (when did that happen?) slap the floor as he approaches the man with the black hair.  
“Hey,” the hunter croaked, surprising himself with the sound of his disused voice, “do you need any help there?”  
The man slowly stands up from his squatted position where he was stacking the dried chunks of prairie brush. As he turns, the hunter lets out a small gasp. The man’s eyes (familiar) are an ethereal blue, seeming to glow in the light of the setting sun. His face is lined with dust, his expression solemn. He brushes off the dark blue dress pants needlessly, and stares directly into the hunter's eyes. They stand in silence for a moment, eyes tracking over the details of the other’s face, searching. Possible familiarity. Something. The hunter snaps out of it first, clearing his throat. “Uh...thank you.” The man tilts his head slightly, his expression shifting to something unreadable.  
“You are welcome,” he says, “I was unsure if you were to survive your injuries, seeing as you had lost consciousness multiple times.” The hunter’s eyes widen, “How long was I out for?”  
“Which time?” came the response. The hunter jerks slightly. He hadn’t yet given himself a chance to assess how much time had passed. He had assumed it was the evening of the same day he had collapsed in the desert.  
“I mean…how long have I been here?” The man squints his eyes, and sighs, “About three days.” The hunter deflates, lowering himself to the porch edge and hangs his head. By this time the demon will have been long gone. There is very little chance of catching up. This has all been for nothing. He realizes he might have just said this out loud and he feels a warm hand touch his shoulder, an unexpected gesture from a stranger (? friend? companion?). He turns his eyes up to meet intense blue pools looking down at him. “That is not of import,” the man says, “you are fortunate to have made it this far. Perhaps the ‘demon’ you speak of was the man who was here when I first arrived, the same day I found you in the desert.”  
The hunter jumps to his feet, bile rising in his throat. “You saw him? The demon? I mean, the man in black, he was here?” The blue-eyed man nodded. “Well?” the hunter prodded, “what did he do, what did he say?”  
The man shifted on his feet, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I don’t know.”  
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The hunter was starting to get angry, “He was here, you were here...something must’ve happened!”  
The man’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t exactly want to gain his attention. He appeared...irate.” He seems satisfied with his statement and attempts to change the subject. “Would you like to help me build the fire?” The hunter keeps staring at the man incredulously. He freezes, unable to come up with a response. After a beat of silence, the man picks up a stack of the brush and retreats into the building. The hunter wordlessly follows. 

The fire is built just in time for the sun to set. The hunter is positioned to the left of the man, a few feet from the fireplace. He shivers and his stomach makes a loud grumble, which does not go unnoticed by his companion.  
“I have procured some sustenance, while you were unconscious,” he says as he stands and walks to the door, “I kept them outside as to not draw flies into the building.” The hunter raised his eyebrows, marveling at his companion’s formal speech and dress, and his apparent resourcefulness.  
The man returns, two rabbits in hand, already field dressed and on a spit of wood. The hunter’s astonishment was written across his face. “I believe this will be sufficient nutrition for you. You appear to have not eaten in some time.”  
The hunter cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t already asked...but who the hell are you? Where the hell did you come from? You appear out of nowhere, drag my ass out of the desert, build a fire like a boy scout, and hunt like Grizzly Adams, but looking like you just left a board meeting?”  
The man set the rabbits over the open flame. “I do not understand that reference,” he stated blandly, “and I assure you I came from somewhere...I’m just not sure exactly where that is.” His voice faltered, “I woke up here. The man in black was here, and then he was gone, and then i found you.” He looks very tired as he speaks. “As for who I am, I cannot answer with certainty, as I have searched my person and come to no conclusion.”  
The hunter pauses, takes a breath, and speaks quietly. “Uh, sorry man. I didn’t mean to jump your shit. You seem to be havin’ just as bad a day as me,” he smiles sheepishly, “I’m Dean.”  
The man with the blue eyes nods. “My name is Castiel. And that is all I know.” 

***************

 

Castiel watches as the man he dragged from the desert sleeps, his eyes roaming over his supine figure. The bright green eyes that flashed earlier stay shut, momentarily still from the violent dreams he seems to be drifting in and out of. His face is slack, the lines relaxed, making him look impossibly young. Assessing his appearance, the gun belt, silver knife in his boot (both removed), calloused hands- scarred and worn, and faint edges of a protection tattoo showing at the collar of his shirt, Castiel concludes that this must be a Hunter, and a well-experienced one at that. The hunter groans in his sleep, signaling the startup of another fever dream, which Castiel will wait through sitting by the wall, as to not be struck as he was during the last.  
The hunter moans and grunts. He seems to be speaking to someone, a man named Sammy. Though at times it is difficult to make out what he is saying, Castiel hears a plea for a life, perhaps this “Sammy” or the hunter’s, and wails of fear and anger. That’s when the thrashing starts. He could be running in his sleep, yelling incomprehensibly. Any attempts to calm him have already failed, so Castiel waits.  
Several minutes later, the hunter stills, and Castiel rises to hunt for firewood and food for the hunter- it won’t be long before he is awake and feeling the effects of his hunger and dehydration. The sun is still high in the sky, so Castiel makes his way slowly as to not exert himself. Strangely, he has yet to feel tired, or hungry. By his count, this being the afternoon of the third day since the man in black summoned him, he has survived without food, water, or sleep. He had pumped water for the hunter, trying to slip some down his throat, having little success. He places his hand on the hunter’s forehead, noting the heat rising off of him, and wets the bandana the hunter wore around his neck to mop at his brow, trying to bring down his temperature. His hand feels tingly when he laid it against warm skin, and a vibration passes between them. Castiel jerks back in response, staring at his hand. The action seems to have affected the hunter; his face loses some of the angry color, and the heat coming off his body fades slightly. Curious, thinks Castiel.  
He continues to ruminate over the same information he knows so far as he collects brush for a fire. He estimates about four more hours of daylight, so he pauses on his next trip to survey the landscape for possible prey to feed the hunter when he awakes. He observes movement in the South, and stands very still. The only weapon he has is the silver knife he had discovered in the hunter’s boot when pulling them off yesterday. he stalks slowly in that direction, staying upwind as to not alert the hare of his presence. The hare stills and stands on his back legs looking for danger, meeting Castiel’s eyes for a fraction of a second before the knife plunges into its heart. Castiel sighs and walks the 20 yards he had thrown the knife. He feels sadness for the necessity of the kill, and prays silently for forgiveness, knowing he will have to repeat the act in order to have enough for the hunter.  
When two rabbits have been killed, skinned, and skewered, he heads back to the station, laying the kills in the shade of the porch. He had already heard the hunter wake for the second time, and waits for his curiosity to bring him outside. Castiel continues to sort wood and waits for the hunter to break the silence. When he does, Castiel stands and meets wide green eyes the color of fresh grass (on a Thursday?) and is lost for a moment, staring with recognition, searching his face for more information. The passing flash of memory, a smooth green field with a man flying a kite, is disrupted by the hunter with an awkward thank you. 

After formal introductions, Dean seems to relax his defensive posturing and accepts the cooked hare with enthusiasm. Castiel watches him eat, head tilted in thought. I wonder who this man is. And why was he chasing the man who brought me here? But all he manages to speak aloud is, “I hope the food is substantial sustenance for you, seeing as you must be planning on leaving soon.” Castiel hides a grimace at his own words, hoping his loneliness isn’t obvious. The hunter pauses chewing, swallows, and turns to him and says, “I suppose I will be heading out in the morning, I guess I’m not as far behind the demon as I thought, since he left the same day i got here.” Castiel looks down, then away, afraid of where this conversation was leading. He tried to keep his face stoic at the next question. “When did you get here?” asks Dean, “And why are you even here? I saw no evidence of your trail when I came in from the West…” His pause is pregnant with tension. Castiel sighs and runs his hands through his hair, causing it to stand up again. He looks at the hunter and calmly says, “I was summoned by the man in black, whom I can only assume is this demon you are hunting.” The hunter snaps his eyes to Castiel’s face as he continues, “Yes, I am aware of demons, and no I do not know where he went or why i was brought here. I cannot remember where I was before this, or what or who I am. I know my name by the sigil the demon drew on the floor, presumably in a summoning spell. I feel as though I am bound, something restricting my movements, but I cannot say in what way.” He pauses to let the information be absorbed.  
Dean narrows his eyes. “When I had asked you earlier about seeing the demon, why did you change the subject?”  
Castiel did grimace this time. “I had hoped that escaped your attention. I was ashamed of my behavior, when he was here...I hid.” He waited for a reaction, some kind of admonishment, but none came. Castiel notes the contrast of the rough exterior of this man, and the gentleness that shifts into his eyes.  
“It’s ok man,” Dean says, “I’m sure if I just popped up in a strange place by some dude in black i would have hidden too.” He clears his throat and appears ready to move on. “Can you show me the sigil?” Castiel nods, and stands motioning to a dusty area on the other end of the room. Dean stands up and walks over to it, squatting down and running his hands over the painted floorboards. “I don’t recognize this,” he turns back to Castiel, “you said it’s your name? You can read this?” Castiel nods again and stays still, unsure of his next move. He can’t stand the idea of being left here alone, and worries that this man will leave him if he doesn’t have the information he seeks. He feels the need to be useful to him somehow, as though his very existence depends on it. This sudden realization heats his face and he hopes the hunter can’t see it in to low light of the fire. Dean pauses and looks to Castiel from his position on the floor. He stands and walks back to his place and plunks down and resumes eating the rabbit meat. Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and sits as well. The stay like that in comfortable silence for a long while.

Dean has fallen asleep again, his head propped up by his arm. Castiel looks at him from his side of the fireplace, intrigued. He scoots closer, careful not to wake the sleeping hunter. His eyes roam over Dean’s face again, searching for that spark of familiarity. He slowly sinks further to the floor, lying parallel with Dean, mirroring his position. He can feel breath on his lips, warm and steady, as eyes move restlessly under closed lids. Castiel watches as Dean begins to dream, and he marvels at the act, curious about the process and wonders why he has yet to need sleep since he has been here. Is he so different from Dean? Is he so alien and strange that he can’t even sleep? He hasn’t mentioned this to the hunter yet, and was hoping it would go unnoticed. He closes his eyes to mimic sleep, hoping it will come because of his close proximity to the hunter. Castiel immediately sees colors swirl before his closed eyes, stilling and forming into shapes. He looks upon a lake with trees surrounding it. turning to the left, he spots Dean sitting with his back to him, holding a fishing pole. The scene is so achingly familiar that Castiel can’t move for several moments. How is he here? Is this Dean’s dream? He looks to the spot to the right of Dean, on the dock and suddenly he is there, looking down at him. Dean doesn’t look up, but instead comments, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” Castiel continues to look into the man’s face and barely above a whisper says, “Yes it is.” 

 

******** 

Dean gazed out over the water. He had been having this dream many years, but he can no longer remember where this is; the world has moved on from then. He was aware of Castiel’s presence beside him, because that was where he was supposed to be. Supposed to be. Dean rolled that over in his mind a few moments. He hadn’t seen him in the dream before now, so why did he belong there? Dean shook it off- dreams are weird anyway. More silence had passed between them, as comfortable as it was before. Dean wonders when ‘before’ was, and turns to ask Castiel if he knows. Castiel seems to be thinking the same thing, and as he sits, he looks over the water and says quietly in that low rumbling voice of his, “I know you from before.” it’s not a question, but a statement, one he seems sure of. Dean smirks slightly and raises his brows. “You care to share with the class, Cas?” Castiel whips his head around, stunning Dean with his blue eyes again. “You call me that. You call me Cas. No one did that before you.” Dean’s smirk fades off his face. So he feels it too, Dean thinks, we know each other from before. “Well, hell man, Castiel is such a mouthful it’s a wonder no one thought to shorten it,” he jokes instead. Cas draws his eyebrows together, his eyes boring into Dean’s, only inches away from him. Dean clears his throat to make a joke about personal space, but he knows it doesn’t really bother him, so he elects to stay silent. “Why are you in my dream?” He asks finally. Cas turns back to the water. “I didn’t mean to,” he states, “I cannot seem to dream on my own, nor sleep or eat.” None of this seems to be news to Dean, and he gazes at the side of Cas’ face seeing the otherworldly aura the man carried around him (man? no not quite). “I know you too,” Dean says quietly, “I had forgot. I’ve tried so hard to forget the before. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Cas turns back to him. “Dean. I need your help. I need to remember. I need to be able to save you…” Cas trails off, seems to be unable to finish his thought. Dean draws in a breath and looks away. “Huh,” he chokes out, “why would I need saving. Nothing matters anymore anyway. It’s all gone to Hell in a very literal way,” he laughs half-heartedly at this, and Cas waits. Dean looks down at his hands. “I couldn’t save him. I was too late.” Cas still says nothing. When Dean looks back up, Cas is looking blurry around the edges, and the lake is growing darker. Dean isn’t ready to wake up yet, it’s so peaceful here, so familiar, especially with his friend (companion?). He reaches out to grip the sleeve of Cas’ tan trench coat (I mean seriously who even wears those), but it dissolves into faint color and he starts to wake up.

Dean opens his eyes to see blue ones about 6 inches away staring back at him. He scrambles back sputtering, “What the hell man, don’t you know it’s creepy to watch people sleep?” Cas sighs and rolls over on his back, staring at the ceiling. “I suppose you don’t remember your dream, then?” Dean looks at him, about to yell again, then stops. “My dream,” he manages. Cas nods. “I-you were-” he stammers, “that was real?” Cas nods again, turning his eyes to the hunter. Dean feels anger building in his gut, coiling and making his face hot. “That’s so not fucking cool, man!” he exclaims, “you can’t just go around being in people’s dreams, that’s like, private stuff. What if I had been dreaming about naked chicks or something? So not cool.” Cas rolls his eyes, “I’m not interested in discussing your masturbatory fantasies, Dean,” he isn’t looking when Dean’s face reddens. “I need to know what you can remember. From before. I get the feeling I’m not in my own timeline. But I don’t know when or where I came from.” Ignoring the masturbation comment, Dean clears his throat and reaches for his water. He tries not to think about the blue eyes right in front of him, definitely blue eyes he has seen in dreams (memories?). “I don’t know, man. Time is confusing now. It seems to have folded in on itself when the world ended and God left the building.” Cas looks alarmed. “Do you know when that happened?” he asks. Dean shakes his head slowly with a pained look on his face. “Everyone knows that, man. The world ended in Detroit, 2014.”

 

***********

Cas feels his blood run cold. The date held some significance in his mind judging by the physical reaction he was having. He schools his face and sits up. “Dean. I need you to do something for me.” Castiel stands up and starts toward the hunter while unbuttoning his shirt. Dean scrambles back further and hold his hands out defensively. “Hey man,” he sputters, turning impossibly redder, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I don’t swing that way.” Cas rolls his eyes again. “I just need you to look at my back, Dean,” he says, “I think that’s where the man in black put the binding spell. But I can’t see it.” Dean looks embarrassed but jumps up and moves to look at Castiel’s back. Cas feels eyes roam over his body. Dean lets out a low whistle. “Man those are some tattoos,” he grins. Castiel twists around and ends up spinning a full circle while Dean laughs at him. “Hold still, hold on,” he put his hands up to still Cas, “let me get a better look.” Cas still stays twisted to see Dean’s face as he inspects the tattoos. “They are wings, but there’s more of that sigil writing along the feathers. I’ve never been good with this kind of stuff, this is more Sammy’s department…” Dean trails off and takes a step back. “Nevermind. But, yeah, it looks like some kind of spell I guess.”  
Cas turns to face Dean and notes the way his eyes keep flicking down to his torso as he speaks. “I need to see the letters, do you think you could duplicate them?” Dean nods, licking his lips and looking away. “Sure,” he says, “I need something to write with.” Cas looks around and stoops down to the fireplace and pulls out a charred branch. He looks back at the fire and heaps more fuel onto it. The light in the room brightens, and Cas gracefully lowers to the floor with his back facing the light. He estimates another 3 hours of darkness outside, and he wants to hurry, as surely Dean will want to leave at dawn, and he may not get another chance to break this spell. Dean walks over and slowly picks up the blackened branch. He sits directly behind Cas, and Cas can feel his breath again, this time on his neck. He looks over his shoulder and shivers as Dean tentatively runs his fingertips over the letters on his back. He looks forward and closes his eyes, shamefully relishing the physical contact. He hears the scratch of the charcoal stick on the floorboards as Dean slowly copies down the sigils.  
Cas focuses his attention on the sound of the writing instead of the trace of fingers, waiting for a pause to relieve the almost painful pleasure Dean’s touch causes. Familiar.  
What feels like hours later, Dean removes his hand from his back. Castiel releases an exhale he didn’t know he was holding. He rolls his shoulders, and turns to see Dean’s handiwork. He is pleased with the results. Dean is a gifted artist, and the sigils are concise and clear. Cas moves to the edge of the circle of writing and squints holding his hand to his mouth intently.  
“This is in Enochian,” he says, “It is a binding spell, I’m not sure how the marking was accomplished, but it seems to be rather complex. I see the sigils that hold my name and bind my wings, and here is the one that binds my memory-” “Excuse me, did you say wings?” Castiel looks up, almost forgetting Dean’s presence. “Yes,” he says slowly, “I believe it is marked to look like wings as it binds them-” “Yeah, yeah, I get that,” interrupts Deans, “But you have wings? As in angel wings?” Cas tilts his head. “I feel as though that is correct. I am still having trouble with remembering-” Castiel closes his eyes suddenly, and sucks in a breath. His mind races with half-formed images, faded sounds, flashes of color. I am an angel of the Lord… Because we have work for you...  
He does not feel it as his knees buckle and he is caught by strong hands lowering him to the ground. All he feels is the darkness wash over him. 

When he comes to, his head resting in the hunter’s lap, Castiel blinks slowly. “You’re awake,” starts Dean, “I was worried I lost you there for a minute.” Castiel is very aware at the contact of their bodies. The heat rises from Dean’s legs into the back of Cas’ neck. It feels very comfortable to his vessel. He does not wish to move, and hopes Dean will allow him that for the moment.  
“I have some more information,” Castiel states, “I am an angel. My mind has been affected somehow, but I was able to see where the sigil has has me bound. We need to cut it.” Dean stares down at him with a shocked look on his face. “Wait- you’re saying you’re an angel- like warrior of God, dick with wings, abandons Earth as soon as the apocalypse pops off- angel?” Cas nods but waits to speak. Dean runs his hand down his face. “Then how are you here? I thought you assholes closed the gates when it looked like you were on the losing side?” Castiel closes his eyes again before he speaks, his voice low and soothing. “I am unaware of the occurrence of an apocalypse at this time. If we cut the sigil, we may have more information. Please say you will do this for me, Dean. I need to know.” Dean shifts under him, and his hands move as if he wants to touch Cas’ face. “If I do this, will you get your angel mojo back?” Cas gazes upward into green eyes. “I am not sure. But I think it may be safer to start with memory before unbinding my, as you say ‘mojo’.” Dean cracks a smile at the angel’s use of air quotes. “Yeah, ok, we can do that,” he responds, shifting but not moving to get up. It seems as though he is reluctant to move as well. Cas savors the moment and is once again stabbed with regret as he knows the hunter will leave soon anyway, without him. He will not continue to be helpful to him, in fact may slow the hunter down in his quest. He is sure of this, now that he has lied to Dean- hiding his revelation that he will not be able to unbind his wings, even by cutting the sigil; in fact, damage to the wing tattoo may prove to be fatal as it seems to be bound to his grace.  
Castiel sits up and turns again to the drawings, purposefully with his back to Dean. “What is it, Cas?” Castiel cringes at the nickname but doesn’t turn. Dean moves closer, seems about to say something, but hesitates. The angel speaks quickly, “This sigil right here,” he points, “It needs two cuts made in parallel lines from left to right. I assume as a hunter, you are skilled with a blade?” He finally looks to Dean who has an unreadable expression across his face. Dean clears his throat and reaches for the silver blade that had been resting on the hearth. He pauses, then tosses more wood on the fire. The room brightens again, and he turns toward Cas’ back, pauses again and then runs the blade through the fire to sterilize it. Cas watches with vague amusement, knowing that it doesn’t matter if the blade is clean. The care in which the hunter does this is strange, he must know it’s not necessary, but does it anyway. It strikes Castiel as considerate, familiar even. Maybe he has done this sort of operating often enough that it is nothing but routine, but Cas secretly craves the care.  
Dean approaches again, and exhales slowly, his breath ghosting over the angel’s skin, raising bumps with it. Cas represses a shiver, and steels himself and waits for the pain. The blade is impressively fast, barely a pause felt between the two cuts. Almost instantly, Cas keels over again, hitting his knees and catching himself on his hands. The pain of memory and image rips through his mind and body causing convulsions, and he is unaware of what happens next, but he finds himself in Dean’s arms when he calms and opens his eyes. “Hello, Dean.”

 

********

Dean is freaking out. The cuts quickly heal, and Dean watches Cas hit the floor. Panic is in his throat as he watches his companion (angel?) writhe on the floor. He swoops down and gathers Cas into his arms, repeating the gesture from earlier. His eyes are rolled back and he is babbling in a language Dean hasn’t heard before in a low booming tone. A blue light sparks in the angel’s eyes, growing in brightness quickly, and Dean has the presence of mind to turn away and squeeze his eyes shut, as tight as he can manage. His retinas burn anyway, leaving spots in his vision when Cas stills. Dean opens his eyes and hears his name. “Hello Dean.” The hunter’s heart stops. He stares down into electric blue eyes and remembers. 

There was a time. A time before here. A time before everything went to shit, before he lost Sammy and everyone was dead and the world was broken and time twisted on itself. There was him. And Cas. And Cas had rebelled for him. And Team Free Will. And Zachariah and his bullshit worlds. And throwing him into the future. And leaving him there. It made no sense. Cas was dead. He saw him disappear into that building, knowingly sacrificing himself to Dean’s (other Dean’s) cause, nothing but the rotting shell of a human, high on pills and on a kamikaze run. Cas was dead. Sam was dead. Lucifer was king, and it ended in Detroit. Just as it always would. And the colt didn’t work. But he had kept it anyway, after Dean (other douchebag Dean) had dropped it, and waited for Zach to zap him back. But he didn’t. He waited. He fought his way back to camp. Alone. And Cas was dead. And he was alone. And then time turned on itself and those things were no longer important, and memory faded. Or was locked behind a steel door in his mind filed under Don’t Go There, Too Much Pain. But who is this? This is Cas, the before Cas, his eyes sharp and uncloudy- no drugs or hopelessness. The Cas he needed, the Cas who saved him. Had pulled him from the pit, broken. Had rebuilt him, one cell at a time, knows him inside and out. Cas who he is drawn to, who comes when he prays, stands too close, stares too long. Cas. His Cas. The nerdy angel Castiel who walked into that barn and into his life on a blasting wind and literal sparks. Cas who waited for him on the side of the road so Dean could sleep four hours. In 2009. 

“You never came. I was in the motel and you never came.” Dean blinks, his voice barely above a whisper. Castiel’s, gaze is unwavering but sorrow bleeds through. “I am sorry Dean. I was...detained. I am assuming I was brought to this point in time.” He shifts and rises to sit up. Dean’s hands are still locked in the position he was holding Cas in, frozen in shock. Cas raises his hand and lightly grazes Dean’s left arm, eliciting a hiss from the hunter. He snaps to life instantly, his sorrow swiftly turning to rage. “You never came, and I was trapped here,” his voice rose, jaw clenched. “You never came and that sonovabitch Zachariah left me here!” Castiel hung his head. “I am sorry Dean. I..I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you, I-” There is sudden movement as Dean barrels forward and Cas appears to brace himself for a punch. Dean flings his arms around the angel and pulls him in tight to his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Cas stands stock-still for a few counts, then seems to relax and tentatively brings his arms up to Dean’s waist. Dean’s breath hitches and he sobs quietly. For everything he lost, for searching for a way back, for the aching hole he has felt in his chest for so long. “Please don’t leave me again, Cas, please,” he babbled, “I can’t lose you again. I need you.” Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s waist, drawing him closer. “I will not fail you this time, Dean. I am here to protect you, that has not changed.” Dean sniffs and pulls back to wipe his nose on his sleeve. He looks up to see his other arm still loosely hanging around the angel’s bare shoulder. His skin is cool to the touch and the hunter is suddenly aware of himself, blubbering and clutching Cas like a fool- a version of Cas who was still getting to know him- and maybe this hug is crossing a few too many lines. Dean steps back and clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Maybe you should put your shirt back on so you don’t...get cold.” Cas tilts his head in that familiar way which causes a warmth to seep through Dean’s chest. “Oh, yeah, that’s right, you don’t get cold. Hey!” he exclaims, “let’s do the sigil thing again and get those wings going and you can mojo us out of here.” Cas quickly looks away. “I’m sorry Dean. I may have misled you...it seems that the spell binding my wings is irreversible. I do have access to some of my grace, but my ability to fly or transport has been disabled.” He looks down at his hands. “I will not be as useful to you in this condition, and I understand if you choose to leave me behind, as I will only be a burden as you cross the desert.” Dean looks at him sharply. “Cas. Shut the fuck up. I just got done crying and snotting like a big damn baby, I’m not leaving you behind, you got that?” Dean had made his way into the angel’s space again, a strange reversal of roles, staring down at him from his slight height difference. “I don’t care about you being useful to me, I just need you with me.” “Very well, Dean.” The angel’s expression seems unchanging, but Dean can read a wave of relief passing over him. Dean stares into his face a while longer, unbelieving for a moment that this is real, maybe it’s just another mirage or a trick of the demon’s. He traces his eyes along Cas’ brow, his nose, his chin, his lips. His lips are chapped as always, a pale pink. Up close like this, Dean can see lines around his eyes and stubble on his cheeks, and he impulsively raises a hand and runs his thumb across Cas’ lower lip. Cas gasps lightly, but doesn’t pull away. Dean’s eyes flick back up to Cas’ impossibly blue ones, and he leans closer, still stroking Cas’ lower lip. Cas stares back with wide eyes, pupils growing slowly, heat rising in them, the look of desire. Cas’ eyes flutter shut, and for a moment they breathe the same air. Then the fire pops, causing them to jump and break apart. The spell is broken and Cas will not look back up at Dean.  
“You need to sleep, Dean. The sun will be up soon and you should be fully rested before we leave.” His eyes flick up when he says ‘we’, seeming to gauge Dean’s reaction. “Yeah,” says Dean numbly, “I should do that.” Slowly he turns to his bedroll and lays back down. Dean thinks back to the night on the phone with Cas, complaining that needed to give him space, and feels regret. With his back facing Cas, he speaks in a quiet, uncertain voice, “It’s ok if you watch over me, Cas. I..uh...could you-maybe- I mean if you want to..” he motions at the right side of his bedroll and looks back to Castiel. Cas pulls his dress shirt back on and nods, stepping over to Dean and sinking to the floor with him, rolling to his back and pulling Dean’s head to his chest. Dean draws closer, tangling his legs with Cas’ and wrapping his arm around his waist. Dean closes his eyes and feels safe for the first time in years, maybe ever. It’s almost foreign, but it brings dreamless sleep immediately. He drifts listening to Cas’ heartbeat that he’s not sure is real, but is soothed anyway. 

 

********

Dean stands still. Lucifer smirks at him using Sam’s face, causing a new wave of revulsion to flow through him. He knew he needed to get out of here, Lucifer seemed to be giving him an opening. “Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will alway end up- here. I win. So I win.”  
“You’re wrong.” Dean says, as he turns away, waiting for a strike from behind which doesn’t come. “See you in five years, Dean.” Sam’s voice falls silent. Dean turns back and he’s gone. Nothing left but the corpse of a future Dean he wishes to never become. He sees the Colt and darts forward to pick it up. He tucks it in his jacket, and entertains maybe shooting Zach in his fat ugly smug face. But he doesn’t come. He never comes. Dean finds himself at Camp Chitaqua, staring through the gate at his baby. It’s all gone now. Everyone he loves or even cares about is gone. Even Chuck. There’s no use staying here, they will expect him to take Future Dean’s place, and he can’t do it. He can’t be that shell of a man, devoid of any feeling and a dead look in his eyes. His disregard for his comrades, especially Cas. He knows his future self is responsible, somehow, for Cas’ drug use, his loss of grace, his loss of faith. It hurt more than anything to see how he had ruined the angel. It was because of him. All of it was. Because he didn’t say yes to Michael when he had the chance.

Two years passed, on the road, fighting croats alone, and no Zachariah. Dean hears word of a demon who may be Lucifer’s number 1, and who may have intel on his whereabouts. Dean still holds onto a tiny sliver of hope that there might be another way to exorcise Lucifer from Sam’s body, he just needs to keep trying, keep looking for Sammy, to watch out for Sammy. He failed so horribly, letting Sam go out on his own, unprotected, and Lucifer got to him somehow. Sam said himself he didn’t feel strong enough, and Dean felt like a royal fuckup for letting him leave. Dean leaves a trail of death and destruction in this already fucked up world, trying to undo what he caused, but probably making it worse. He didn’t care, he used his self-hatred to slash his way through croats and demons, trying to get to Sammy somehow. Without that hunt, he’s nothing. Dean starts to forget. It’s easier. Forgets about 2009. Forgets about traveling forward in time. He has long since given up running over the time travel theories of Back to the Future and Terminator, wondering if he merged with his future self, but he is dead, so how…? Was God involved? Or was he gone as usual, uncaring about his messy little creations destroying the planet He so meticulously created? Dean ponders the latter, and hears rumors of the demon traveling East, to the coast, and sets his mind on the job, the mission, and all else falls from his thoughts. The guilt over the loss of Bobby, his self-hatred for what he did to Cas. So he moves on. Time shifts, and by his count, maybe another 2 years pass, but time has become fluid and meaningless, some days lasting a few hours, others seem to go on for weeks. Hell had brought it’s warped sense of reality when it came topside. So he moves on again. Hope has shifted to desperation, and then he was in a desert that he swears used to be Ohio, but who could tell anymore? No one left to write letters to anyway. Death seems the best option, oblivion now that Heaven and Hell no longer exist. He had seen so many suicides in those first years, the last remnants of humanity losing hope and making the great escape. And now he was catching up to the demon, and ready to rain the fury and wrath he had carried for so long. No real memory of why he followed him to begin with….

*********

Castiel lays very still. Dean has somehow managed to wrap himself tighter around him, his left leg hiked up above Cas’ knees, and his face buried in the crook of Cas’ neck. He can feel Dean’s entire body flush against his vessel, and feels his heartbeat and breathing. Cas closes his eyes again, trying to respect Dean’s privacy and does not dreamwalk. He focuses instead on not allowing his physical form react to the proximity of Dean. Surely Dean is only doing this because he is asleep and unaware. Castiel was surprised that Dean had requested to be so close to him as he slept. His understanding of their established boundaries was that Dean did not like Cas to be in his ‘personal space’ and was not inclined to much physical contact except a touch on the shoulder, or the time after the incident at the brothel, where Dean laughed and threw an arm around Cas’ shoulders. That was the first time Castiel felt a physical reaction to Dean in his vessel, his touch ignited something deep within himself. 

 

After being vaporized by the archangel guarding Chuck, the prophet, Cas was somehow brought back in the same form. Jimmy Novak had been a constant comfort within the vessel, providing information that aided Castiel in navigating human interaction, but upon Cas’ resurrection, Jimmy had left. Cas had spent some time using some unauthorized channels to see where Jimmy had ended up. Much to his relief, Jimmy was in his own Heaven, and free from witnessing the end of the world. Cas had sent a message of thanks to him, and was curious over the sense of weight releasing from his grace. As though he was sorry to have possessed Jimmy and felt guilt over it. Guilt was a human emotion, and the longer Cas spent with the Winchesters, the more emotion he seemed to experience. His vessel belongs to him. He assumed at the time that God himself had brought him back, but for what reason had yet to be revealed. 

Three days ago, Castiel stood on the side of a highway waiting for Dean. He had just been hung up on, and decided to wait quietly until such a time was appropriate to appear in Dean’s motel room. Approximately 4 hours. He had decided to count seconds and observe as many sounds, colors, and smells he could detect to pass the time. He lifted his nose to the air to scent the trees and the dust and the various pollen and fauna. He had closed his eyes for a moment, and that’s when a bright light flashed, filling him and pulling and pushing his wings until they were immobile, and then darkness. He awoke in this place, cold and confused in the middle of the painted sigil, eyes facing a figure cloaked in black who was mid-turn and laughing. Castiel couldn’t see his face and had no sense of who he was. Just that he was experiencing a very strong emotion that felt overwhelming and he found himself pushed back into the corner of the room, knees to his chest, face hiding in his trench coat. He remained that way for an undetermined amount of time, waiting for the fear to abate so he could think clearly. He eventually raised his head to find the man in black gone, and the silence deafening. Cas looked at the sigil on the floor, and recognized it, and could read it. Castiel, he read. I believe that is my name. I trust that was how I arrived here. He relaxed and gathered his wits about him. The most sensible thing to do now was to survey the area and see where he was. He walked around the wooden planked room and inspected the fireplace, the water pump, and the way the sunlight filtered in through the spaces between the boards that made up the walls. The light was pale, but growing rapidly brighter, and the temperature of the room started to increase. Castiel stripped off his coat and suit jacket and loosened his tie. He wiped his hand across his forehead and it came away wet with sweat, and he stared at it, brows furrowed. His head jerked up at a sound outside. A sharp cry of a bird of prey echoed far away. Cas walked outside onto the porch of the squat building and squinted his eyes looking to the sky. The intense bright blue was unmarred by clouds and seemed to stretch until it touched the earth on the horizon. His eyes tracked along the curved edge of the earth, sight projecting further and further. he observed rodents and rocks and short brush scattered across the ground. There was movement in the distance, and he turned to zoom in on it. It was a man, staggering along in his direction. Castiel watched as the man slowed, eyes glazed and mouth twisted into a grimace. He came to a standstill, and Cas was running full-sprint to the man as he swooned to the ground. Cas slid in the dirt covering the last few feet, landing on his knees beside the man. The man’s face was tanned and streaked with dust and grime. His lips were cracked and dry- as sure sign of dehydration. Cas knew he was still alive; he could hear the man’s pulse and shallow breathing when still 10 feet away. Castiel gripped the man by the arms and lifted him over his shoulder and started the trek back to the building. Familiar struck Castiel. He had a sense he was missing something but didn’t slow to ponder it. He ducked into the cooler interior of the wooden station, and laid the man out quickly. He looked around for something to hold water and found a metal canteen attached to the man’s backpack. Cas loosened it and ran over to the pump, silently praying that it was operational. He yanked the handle and heard gurgling from the depths of the earth. He continued to pump the handle up and down and was rewarded with a spurt of muddy water. He waited for a moment for it to run clear and filled the leather pouch. Pausing for a second, he pulled his tie off and wet it. He spilled and dripped his way back to the man, now in his care, and lifted the water to his lips, just letting it run over his closed mouth to cool and sooth it. Cas lifted the man’s head slightly and attempted to pour some down his throat, causing the man to flail and sputter. Maybe not a good idea. He used the wet tie to clean the man’s face, spotted the bandana and tossed the blue tie to the side and used to bandana to dry. Cas identified the man as a hunter, and quickly disarms him, lest he has a fit or hallucination causing him to fire his weapon. Castiel removed the man’s boots, covered him with the blanket from the bedroll, and sat back and waited. 

******

Dean is stirring. He feels the warmth of arms, the rise and fall of a chest, the hard planes of abdominal muscles. He is still in the space between awake and dreaming, so he burrows in further, not wanting to pop the bubble and return to reality. He inhales deeply at the warm neck his lips are resting on. It smells sweet like prairie grass and tangs of sweat, and there is another smell, familiar and spicy, like the air before it rains. He runs his tongue out of his mouth a tiny bit and tastes the skin, salty and damp. The chest hitches mid-breath, so Dean tries it again to see what happens. He is rewarded with a small gasp and arms tighten around him. Dean smiles into the skin, feeling his morning erection swell and he twitches his hips involuntarily, gaining a bit of friction and a resulting spike of pleasure. The body he lies on starts breathing heavier and running hands over his arms and and back. Dean slowly strokes his hand down the chest, pausing to rub a nipple gently through cotton. The breathing is disrupted by a moan, and Dean shivers at the low gravelly sound. This is Cas, this is him, this is real, he wants me, I can feel it- Dean’s train of thought stops abruptly as his hand has wandered further down and comes to rest on Cas’ erection straining in his dress pants. Cas arches up into his hand, which causes friction on Dean’s cock again, holy fuck I’m dry-humping an angel, Dean thinks, and starts giggling into Cas’ neck. Cas stops moving and looks down at Dean with concerned eyes. Dean takes the opportunity to catch his lips in his own, soft and sweet. Cas makes a surprised sound and returns the gentle kiss. Soon it grows heated, and Dean finds himself dragged on top of Castiel’s body, slotting his knee in between the angel’s legs. Cas has his hands gripped onto Dean’s ass, rocking into him, rutting them together, as his tongue dips in and out of Dean’s mouth, mimicking the hunter’s motions and improvising a few of his own. Dean groans into Cas’ mouth and wonders how he has caught on so fast. No words have been spoken, but they move in tandem, wanting and touching and groping and rubbing, the air having grown thick around them. Dean gets a hand between their bodies, needing more contact, and unbuttons Cas’ shirt, as Cas reciprocates by wrenching Dean’s T-shirt over his head swiftly. The feel of skin on skin causes both to moan and rut harder, and Dean realizes he won’t last much longer if he doesn’t slow down. He breaks the kiss and looks down at Cas. The angel’s eyes are blown black with desire, and his lips are red and swollen from rough kisses. His hair is, well, sex-hair as usual, and Dean grips him by it. They breathe into each other and lock eyes. “Cas,” Dean whispers out, unsure what he means to say. “Yes Dean.” Castiel rumbles. His voice goes straight to Dean’s groin, and he gasps and rocks forward again. “Dean, I-I need more, I need-” The angel searches Dean’s face, unsure how to ask for what he wants. Dean strokes his cheek and says, “I got you Cas, do you trust me?” The angel nods, eyes wide and lust-filled. “Good,” Dean smiles, “that’s good.” 

********

Castiel is overwhelmed by emotion again. He has never had so much physical stimulation, or been allowed to touch Dean this way. Dean was above him, looking down deep into his eyes, and telling him to trust him. Cas remembers the first time he saw Dean in Hell, his soul bright and powerful despite the violence and death surrounding him. As soon as he touched it, he was lost to him. He spent tortuous months longing for Dean, desiring something for the first time in his entire existence. And here he was, draped across Cas’ body, promising to take care of him. Cas reaches up with his right hand and grips Dean’s arm directly over the handprint scar, causing a jolt of pleasure to run through both of them. Dean’s eyes darken and he sits up on his heels to undo Cas’ slacks. With a slight smirk, Dean yanks down both pants and boxers, and Cas feels the air hit his member, causing a new sensation. His cock curls up toward his stomach and twitches as Dean looks him over. Cas is reaching out to Dean to return the favor, but Dean dips down and kisses the tip of Cas’ cock. Cas throws his head back and shouts something in Enochian, his fingers gripping into the flesh of Dean’s arm harder, causing them both to moan. Dean swirls his tongue gently around Cas’ cock head, lapping up the pre-come that is beading there. Cas stops breathing as Dean takes him into his mouth, all the way to the base, sucking lightly as he comes back up. Cas gasps out, “Dean, wait Dean, I’m going to…” Dean smiles, and dips down again, but Cas stops him with a hand. “No Dean, I mean wait, because I want you to...with me...um…”  
Dean’s smile widens and he allows Cas to unbutton his jeans and slip them down. Dean raises up on his toes from his position between Cas’ legs, and lets him push both jeans and underwear down off his feet. Cas shutters as both of them are naked, and he sweeps his eyes over Dean’s body hungrily. “Not so long ago,” Cas growls out, “I remade you. I touched every part of your body and soul. I was in my true form and was inside your very cells.” Dean’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen, and he stops breathing, waiting for Cas to continue. “I have been inside you, Dean, and now I want to feel you inside me.” Dean blinks, frozen for a moment, then he breaks into a rare delighted smile, one Cas favors above all, last seen outside the brothel when Cas sabotaged the loss of his own virginity. Dean swoops down to catch the angel’s lips again with renewed fervor. They writhe against each other, skin and sweat and teeth and tongues. Dean pauses kissing and looks at Cas again. “You do know what you’ve just asked me to do, right?” Dean frowns. That earns an eyeroll and Cas grips his face with both hands. “Yes, Dean. I want intercourse with you. Now, if you don’t mind.” Dean chuckles looks around the room. “I don’t suppose the demon summoned some lube too, huh?” Cas frowns up at Dean. “I highly doubt he could have predicted us having intercourse and needing proper lubrication, Dean.”  
“Fuck, Cas, how do you make that sound so damn dirty?” Dean rocks against Cas again, eliciting filthy sounds from the angel’s mouth. “But seriously, lube…?” Dean reaches over to his backpack and rummages quickly. He finds a half empty bottle of rosemary oil, used to ward against some types of wraiths, and holds it up triumphantly. “This’ll work,” Dean says. Cas nods, and spreads his legs further. Dean shivers for a second as he watches Cas, and he spreads the oil over his fingers and scoots to the side and kisses Cas again. Dean’s fingers are stroking Cas’ member again, which responds with a twitch, and earns a moan in his mouth. The hunter runs his fingers further down and cups Cas’ scrotum and he move down to the perineum. A press there and Cas pulls his knees up, and lets them fall open. He is trembling, and Dean sooths him by whispering encouragement against his ear. Dean massages the oil down to Cas’ entrance, and circles his finger waiting for Cas to relax. He resumes the kiss, much softer and languid. Cas sighs and Dean pushes his finger through the first ring of muscle with ease. Cas gasps, and Dean pauses his movement, waiting. “No, Dean don’t stop, that is quite pleasureable. I need more.” Dean groans and presses his hard cock on Cas’ hip and moves a second finger to join the first. The stretch and burn that Cas feels causes him to arch his back, then he thrusts down onto Dean’s fingers. “Yes, Dean, more of that, please,” he pleads. Dean scissors his fingers and twists them further in, searching. A jolt of white-hot pleasure rockets through Cas and he cries out. “Dean! Do that again, please!” Dean obliges, and watches as more pre-come dribbles from Cas’ cock onto his stomach. “Dean, I am ready, do it now, put your erect penis inside me, please,” whines Cas, which causes Dean to growl out, “Dammit, Cas, why is that so fuckin’ dirty? I can’t even stand it!” Dean removes his fingers, causing Cas to hiss, and moves into position between his legs. Dean leans over him, pushing Cas’ knees toward his chest. They lock eyes as Dean takes his cock in hand and lines it up with Cas’ hole. The push and a stretch is so much more than Dean’s fingers, and Cas throws his head back and moans a string of Enochian words out as Dean slowly slides in. Dean pauses, fully seated, trying not to come immediately, and revels in the tight heat encasing him. He meets Cas’ eyes again, and the angel gives him a slight nod. Dean pulls out slowly a few inches, and thrusts back in. Cas arches up and moves his legs to wrap around Dean and lock behind his back. Dean pulls out slowly again, but this time Cas grips him with his legs and yanks him, causing a hard thrust into Cas. Dean gasps in surprise, but sets up a rhythm, which turns into pounding his cock into Cas’ burning hot hole at a rough pace. Grunts and gasps fill the air, and Dean watches Cas come apart beneath him. “Dean, something is happening,” Cas groans out, “oh! Ungh....what, ungh...Dean, what do I do?” Dean leans over and swipes his tongue over Cas’ bottom lip and whispers, “Let go, Castiel, come for me.” Cas’ back arches and he screws his eyes shut and screams, coming in white stripes over his chest and up to his chin, untouched. His muscles contract, squeezing Dean’s cock over and over, causing the hunter to come hard, calling out Cas’ name in a shout, filling Cas with hot come, thrusting a few more times, working the both of them through the waves of pleasure.  
They still, and Dean collapses half on top of the angel, right in the pool of release on his chest. He slips out of Cas causing them both to shudder. Chests still heaving, they lay in silence for several moments. Dean eyes slip shut, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him. Cas seems to sense this and touches Dean’s face, turning it toward him. A warm tingle of energy passes through his fingers, and Dean slows his breathing. “Thank you, Dean,” he says. Dean huffs out a laugh, smiling weakly. “I should be thanking you, really,” he says. “I haven’t felt this good in years. You did that.” Cas looks very pleased with himself, and moves to kiss Dean again, biting his lower lip gently then sucking lightly on it. “Damn,” said Dean, “you are a fast learner.” “I am glad I could pleasure you to completion, Dean,” Castiel smiled. Dean covers his face with his hand, “Gah, if you keep talking like that, I’m going to fuck you again, like right fucking now.” Dean sits up and looks at the sticky drying mess between them. “They never talk about the gross clean-up part, do they?” he quipped. Cas tilts his head, in that familiar way, opens his mouth, seems to think better of it, and says instead, “Use my tie or the bandana, both are over there,” he motions, “and here’s some water, you need to keep rehydrating.” Dean picks up the blue tie, looks at it with reverence. His gaze turns lascivious and he smirks at it and says, “I’ll use your tie, all right.” “Perhaps I could use it on you next time, Dean?” Cas says hopefully, “and maybe it could be my turn to penetrate you with my penis?” Dean groans and collapses to the ground dramatically. “Stop it, Cas! We need to get a move on, and now all I want to do is let you ‘penetrate me with your penis’.” The last part he says in a grumbly mimic of Cas’ voice. Cas grins and shakes his head. “No Dean, let’s get a move on, we have already lost daylight and it is only getting hotter.” Dean sobers quickly. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get packed up. Three days isn’t the worst I’ve been behind the demon. Besides, there ain’t many places he can go anyway- it’s head directly West or wander in the desert for 40 years.” Cas snorts at Dean’s poor attempt at humor, and stands and finds his clothes. 

********

They are on the trail by mid-morning, Cas with make-shift bandana hat to protect him from the sun. Dean guffaws at him as they walk, remarking on Cas’ resemblance to a “Gumby” which is evidently an integral part of some sort of famous circus ran by a man with the unfortunate name of Monty Python. Cas scowls at Dean, but is smiling inwardly, pleased to see Dean so lighthearted, and marveling at the idea that he had a part in making him feel so good. He is struck again by a need, a desire to help Dean, to please him, to protect him. He is aware that he unconditionally loves him (another human emotion) and has always loved him, but this is different. Deeper somehow. He feels it in his bound grace and throughout his vessel. He looks sideways at Dean and wonders if this is something he could talk to Dean about, and a pang of sadness hits him as he thinks of the younger Winchester, who was always willing to talk about feelings. How strange that such a caring and bright individual, who was loyal and loved his brother fiercely, could be coerced into saying yes to the devil. His blood was tainted, however, but Castiel had grown fond of him in recent days.  
Cas remains quiet as they walk, not letting his feelings show on his face as he glances at Dean occasionally, who is currently re-enacting something called “the Parrot Sketch” with waving arms and a bad British accent. Cas smiles at all the right places, and even laughs at the punchline. He shoves down his worry, and hopes he will be allowed to stay with Dean, and some terrible fate won’t tear them apart.


	2. The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go after the man in black together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing all this great plot and character development, and my finger slipped and voila! porn. Feels too. My beta is no longer my beta, if anyone wants to help, I'd love you forever! All edited by my tired brain hole. I did my best to stick to cannon timeline and such, commenting will help keep me honest. Please comment, I'm curious how I'm doing so far. I'm needy. Thanks for reading!

_He held the amulet in his palm. It had a certain weight to it; it gave him sense of the solid bond it represented between the brothers, the connection that was going to save the world or destroy it. He had witnessed civilizations fall over petty nonsense that humans seemed to gravitate toward, and love had very little to do with it. The illusion that obtaining and possessing another human and calling it love was a frequent theme, Helen of Troy coming to mind, but it was never love. Love being a human emotion, he didn't have much of a grip on it’s true meaning, just of its relative significance to humans, and therefore his Father. He could say, without doubt, that he loved his Father, but knew it was blind devotion written into his makeup- he was created to be a devoted and loyal soldier, and his mission was not to love humanity so much as to serve it. It was not the same love that his Father felt for him and his brothers, and not the same love the humans could feel, resulting in being made in the image of his Father. He had often wondered if this truly bothered him, but had decided it didn’t because his Father had made him exactly the way he was, and he had purpose, a mission, and that was enough._  
The amulet had yet to make him aware of the presence of his Father. It was an ancient bronze, skillfully and loving forged by the fingers of a metalsmith in Mesopotamia. It came into being when his Father walked along shores of his creation, His Hands trailing through the sand making contact with minerals and inadvertently infusing them with His power. The history of the small object throbbed through Castiel’s fingers and into his grace. The ore it was made of was dug from the sands and carefully examined. The metalsmith could feel a power radiating through the ore, and knew it was special somehow. Castiel saw it bend into the shape of the primitive idol. He saw it given to the daughter of the metalsmith, and her eyes lighting up in joy as she hung it from her neck and continued to help her mother with the harvest, feeling important and loved by her own father. He saw her pass it to her daughter when she came of age, and then it was passed again. It continued its journey through the centuries being passed with reverence to daughters, and granddaughters when only sons were born. The women held the power in the family, were the closest to the creator, as they created life themselves. Castiel pondered on when exactly gender became an issue, and settled on the rough transition in Rome, when Emperor Constantine and his cohorts decided the rules for Christianity, and his Father’s original intent was once again misinterpreted for political reasons. The last daughter owning the amulet hid it, knowing it would be seen as remnants of the old religion, and would be destroyed.   
How the amulet came into the hands of a young woman named Karen Singer in the last decades of the 20th century, was mysterious even to the angel’s hands, but he could feel her intense residual longing for a child of her own, and her bitter despair when she had none. He could feel the last waves of emotion resulting from an argument with her husband about having a baby, and the slight burn from her subsequent demon possession. Her husband removed it from her lifeless vessel and held on to it for years, until, through an unexpected series of events, he passed it to the Boy With the Demon Blood, to be a gift to the boy’s father. However he would never receive it, instead it was given to his son, Dean. The vessel of the first archangel, the sword of Michael. There it sat, around the neck of a man Castiel was destined to save, a man who would in turn save the world. A man who fought as a soldier under his own absent father’s will, a man who loved his family and who would vanquish evil from the planet to spare the lives of strangers, all because it was the ‘right thing to do’. A man who imbibed liquor, laid with many women, who lived sinnfully but righteously, a man that Castiel pulled from perdition and rebuilt and felt his first feeling of love for- the moment he touched Dean’s soul. It was less of a feeling and more of a hurricane, slamming through Castiel’s grace, shocking in its intensity and magnitude.   
Why it came into Castiel’s possession, was a secret he would never reveal to its owner. There had been a rumor that the amulet, having been touched by God, would glow hot in His presence. The angels often would gossip about their Father and his whereabouts, and this was how Castiel first heard about the amulet’s supposed power. When he laid Dean’s soul back into his torn and rotted body, it was missing, but the angel felt its presence. He didn’t think much of it, only that it had to be connected to Dean’s destiny somehow, and he was occupied with his mission of resurrection. The next time he saw it was the night he revealed himself to Dean for the first time; in an admittedly dramatic shower of sparks and roaring winds (he so wanted to impress this man), he saw a glint of gold light surrounded by the blinding light of Dean’s soul, and in that moment he felt the bond between them. Something in his long years he had never felt toward anyone, angel or otherwise, and it swelled outward, causing a tendril of his grace brush Dean’s soul. If Dean had noticed, he gave no indication, but that was when Castiel, as Dean would say, was ‘totally fucked.’   
His intention was just to borrow it for a bit, and he claimed it was for his tireless search for his Father, but deep within himself, in a part that he was ashamed of, laid the truth. He wanted it because he wanted Dean. And he knew that to want was dangerous. This sentimentality would be his undoing and would expose his weakness to the other angels, which left him vulnerable. He still didn’t understand why his Father brought him back after Raphael obliterated his vessel at the prophet Chuck’s house. He was ashamed of his humanity, but God touched him somehow, chose him to continue to help the Winchesters. Castiel knew if God helped him then, he might help him now. He hoped God would forgive him for his desire for Dean, and help them stop Lucifer. 

 

********

Cas snapped out of his reverie when he heard Dean move. The hunter wasn’t quite awake yet, so Cas shifted quietly to add more fuel to their campfire. It was about an hour away from dawn, and Cas had patiently waited through the night, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall, his dreams restless but not violent. Cas surveyed the landscape for potential food, but there was no movement yet. He picked up Dean’s silver knife, which the hunter let him keep, and headed east, hoping to catch prey as they surfaced for morning forage. After he captured a rabbit, he headed back to camp to find Dean packing his bedroll. “We should really get a move on,” said Dean, “We are about 12 hours away from the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, though I’m not really sure what state we’re in anymore. But I do know if we go that way,” he jerked his thumb at the slowly brightening horizon, “we get to the ocean.” Castiel wasn’t sure why this was important; they’ve been following Dean’s hunter instincts for what may have been weeks or months. Time no longer seemed linear anyway.   
Castiel noted that this was the most Dean had said at one time since they had left the weigh station. The air had shifted, as if they had been in some sort of protective bubble at the weigh station, holding them in a safe comfortable position, pouring out revelations of emotion, love, lust, sex, sweat, and semen. The temptation to stay, to convince Dean to stay, was almost overwhelming, and Cas suspected it had to do something with the spell the man in black had cast on the floor. There had to be more to it than the wing binding, and he could feel his grace draining away slowly, but that could also be a result of Heaven being sealed up as Dean had said. He also suspected the demon had put Cas there to be an obstacle to Dean, to slow him down. But why hadn’t the demon just killed Dean when he had the chance? Why toy with him so badly and attempt to retain him in the weigh station with Castiel from 2009? There were too many questions for Cas to even bring it up to Dean, and it seemed the further they traveled East, the more the walls seemed to grow. They were returning to the awkward companionship that Cas had become accustomed to before being transported to this awful timeline. Dean became emotionally closed off again, and although Cas found some comfort in the familiarity of it, he had to hide his deep disappointment in the loss of physical contact. He was grateful for the grace he did have access to still, for he could still see the blinding beautiful light that was Dean’s soul.   
Cas sighed and nodded in agreement with Dean, so he scattered the ashes of the fire and followed Dean out across the last remains of the desert, leaving behind the hope that things between them had changed because of their physical encounter. He figured Dean must have deduced that the demon had set them up, and that he didn’t even want Cas like that; it was the effects from the spell. He refrained from commenting on this to Dean; he didn’t want to make the hunter shy further from him. For now, he would take what he could get.

 

********

 

Dean sighed in relief when he finally saw trees. He wanted to jump up and down, but truth be told, he really didn’t have the energy for it. He tossed a glance toward the angel at his side, taking in all the details he could before Cas met his eyes and he had to look away. Castiel had lost his blazer somewhere, and had fashioned his trench coat into a pack of sorts, tying it with his belt and tie. His slacks were rolled up past his bony but delicate ankles, and his feet had been bare for the last week or so. The angel had discovered that he was still mojo’d up enough to walk barefoot and without a hat with no damage from the desert sun. His shoes and socks were in the pack, and the dry hot wind whipped his open shirt around his torso, revealing his tattoo in flashes. His hair had started to grow some, maybe something to do with his disconnect to Heaven. The stubble on his cheeks stood out against his darkly tanned skin, and Dean continued to be shocked by those bright blue eyes and white teeth flashing to him with what seemed to be a mix of hope and fear. Dean snuck a quick look over again to run his eyes along the taught planes of his pecs and abs, marveling at the sheen of sweat formed there. He swallowed dryly and cleared his throat as he looked away. “Cas?” He said, his voice cracking slightly, “can you mojo us up some more water before we hit the foothills? I’m so damn thirsty today…” he said sheepishly. Cas silently nodded his head and they paused so he could get to work. Dean felt guilt clench his gut; this was one of several times since “the incident” that he indulged himself in watching Cas with his full attention. It was both calming and arousing to see him work, his muscles rippling, his intense focus at the task at hand.   
Cas dropped his pack to the ground and looked around at the immediate area for a promising scrub brush. Dean couldn’t tell the difference between them, but Cas seemed to be able to determine which one was the best to use. When asked, he told Dean that he was listening to which one had enough water to share so that it could survive Cas “borrowing” from it. Dean was oddly touched that this angel went out of his way to ensure the survival of a lone scrub brush in the middle of the desert in the wake of the global apocalypse. He thought maybe he should be irritated by it, but it was endearing the way Cas knelt down to the plant and cocked his ear to it, listening to something Dean could never hope to hear. Dean worried about the state of Cas’ grace more and more; he seemed to be having minute changes that made him more human that he had been. It tore at Dean’s heart. He would have occasional flashes of the Cas that Future Dean had sent to his death, scruffy and hopeless, but who looked at Dean (both of them) with open adoration and sadness. Dean hoped with every molecule of his being that he was not turning his Cas into that shattered Cas, but knew on some level that he may be unable to stop it from happening.  
Dean shook his head and refocused his attention on Cas’ form. Cas had the only surviving canteen in his hands, pushed up to the stalk of the short plant. It glowed blue slightly, and the canteen grew visibly heavier. Cas capped the canteen, stretched out his back, flexing his tattooed muscles just visible under his shirt, and stood, pinning Dean with one of his stares. He stepped forward into Dean’s personal space and held out the water without breaking eye contact. Dean felt himself flush, and took a shaky breath as he took the offered canteen. Their fingers brushed slightly and Dean heard Cas suck in some air and his eyes widened. Cas broke the stare first this time, and Dean felt the familiar sting of disappointment he had been feeling since he had decided the incident at the weigh station was nothing but a trick of the demon. He raised the water, took a long pull, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He faced forward and started walking again. He flicked a look over his shoulder to see Cas shaking his head slightly and reaching down to grab his pack and turn to follow Dean. Dean was struck again with equal parts desire and guilt, still feeling he had taken advantage of the poor, inexperienced angel. He took the guilt and added it to the rest (hell, he sure had enough already) and shoved it behind the door in his mind marked, “Shit I Fucked Up,” which was already threatening to burst outward from its hinges. He had to shake it off, he had the job in front of him to do and he felt that time was slipping again. They had to reach the trees before to sun retreated- just the promise of shade was enough to make Dean move faster. He snuck another quick glance back at Cas, who seemed lost in thought. Dean couldn’t imagine how awful it must feel to have lost his wings and have to walk around like a damn human. Once again, Dean twinged with guilt.   
It had started off so awesome, Dean and Cas, together again, against the world (or what was left of it). They had left the weigh station after the sun had risen, and had loaded up on meat and water, so Dean was feeling pretty good. Fucking fantastic, really. He was whistling Back in Black as they walked along, and he was in high spirits. Cas was smiling at him, his mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners, and on occasion, when Dean would him ridiculous jokes, he would flash that rare big gummy smile that never failed to to make Dean feel relaxed and whole. But somewhere after they fell into comfortable silence for a few miles, Dean began to let his mind wander. Some very important questions started to surface. Why did the demon in black not just wait for a weakened Dean to show up so the demon could kill him? Why didn’t he set a trap for him or something? Wait, was Cas the trap? Dean started to feel his good mood falter. Was Cas brought here to hold him up? To put him off his mission? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The demon summoned 2009 Cas to distract Dean, but bound the angel and cast some sort of memory spell, causing both the angel and the hunter to forget just enough so they were drawn to each other. The sex was amazing, but was it even real? Were the feelings he felt toward Cas real, or was it part of the spell? Dean knew he had felt something toward the angel before Zach sent him to 2014, and he could even feel it when he met the fucked up junkie that Cas had become. He even felt it when Future Dean and Future Cas were near each other. He had a suspicion at the time that something had happened between them by the way Chuck and the others eyed them when they spoke to one another, and the room would become uncomfortable. Dean, at the time, promised to himself that he would never let that happen to his friend. He gave up everything to the cause, including his grace, and Dean was responsible. Since his death, Dean had often thought of his Cas until it had become a faint memory, one he had shoved into the “Shit I Fucked Up” room, which had less things in it at the time. He focused instead, on finding Lucifer and reclaiming his brother, no matter what shape he was in.   
In the light of these revelations, Dean’s mood shifted, and he resumed with his usual closed-off attitude and reduced his conversation to one-word sentences for the most part. He had trouble looking Cas in the eye, and was pretty sure the angel had come to the same conclusion at him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him outright. So they kept moving. And fell into a familiar pattern, Dean led, and Cas followed. Dean wanted to ask Cas how he was doing, but every time they accidentally touched, or Dean was gearing up to say something, the door bowed outward and the shit would threaten to burst outward. And Dean was sure if that dam broke, he would be unable to function, unable to continue his mission. He already made an ass of himself by snotting and crying all over Cas, and he didn’t want to appear weak to the angel, especially since Cas was low on mojo, and Dean felt he had to make it up to him and be the rock Cas needed right now. But he couldn’t tell him. He didn’t do that kind of thing too good; usually he said some shit sideways or got frustrated with himself and ended up making it worse. So better to say nothing, and show Cas how strong Dean was, and just keep pushing forward. Surly Cas knew-  
Dean was snapped out of his thoughts by stumbling over a stupid rock, twisting his ankle, and he cried out as he fell to the ground. Cas was immediately by his side, hand on his ankle, “Dean! Are you ok?” Cas’ eyebrows were drawn together in concern. “Geez, Cas, it’s nothing, just a little twisted.” Dean pushed Cas’ hand off him, maybe a little harder than he meant to. A hurt look flashed across Cas’ face, which then fell into his usual stoic expression. “I can still fix it,” he murmured, “I’m still good for that.” Dean winced, and bit the inside of his cheek in effort the keep the Fucked Up door closed. Cas turned away, and picked up his pack once again. Dean watched his back, still from the ground, and considered. “Cas?” He asked, “Yes Dean?” Cas kept his back turned, but Dean could hear a catch in his voice. “Um..I..um, could actually use your help over here. Just- uh, just to help me up.” Dean didn’t want to use up any more of Cas’ grace than he had to, even if it meant the angel was pissed at him for a while. Cas walked back over, avoiding Dean’s eyes, and reached out to him. Dean firmly grasped Cas’ forearm, and they pulled him up again. He looked sheepishly at Cas, “Thanks, man,” he said. Cas didn’t say anything and continued to look at a spot over Dean’s shoulder, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. They continued walking, Cas in the front this time, with Dean trailing along, limping slightly. It wasn’t really that bad, and he would walk it off in no time. He was unsure how much grace Cas actually had left, but he knew wasting it on him was a bad move. Surely Cas knew that. 

They fell back into silence, and Dean watched Cas as he picked his way, barefoot, over jagged rocks and pitted holes in the earth. He moved gracefully, and with ease. Far from the way Castiel had moved in Jimmy’s vessel, stiff and awkward. He seemed to have really taken ownership of his own body. Dean’s mind immediately flashed on the night at the weigh station, how his and Cas’ bodies moved together, sliding on sweat and the heat...oh the heat. Cas’ tight wet heat… Dean looked down, realizing this train of thought was leading to a spectacular hard on, and he was glad to be behind Cas for the moment so he could will it away. Actually being behind Cas was how he got the boner in the first place. He snorted laughter at that, and tried to cover it up with a cough, nearly falling again when Cas flashed a look his way, in an attempt to hide his erection. They continued walking. Dean tried to focus his thoughts on other things, but his mind kept wandering back to how easy it all was, to touch Cas, to caress his mouth with his own, until the kisses grew desperate and hard, hands moving frantically over each other’s bodies, Cas giving him that look- Dean paused for a second. That look. He had seen it before. When they were leaving the brothel. Cas looked at him that way when he tried not to bust a gut after his mind-reading trick gone wrong. Cas looked at him like that when he straightened his tie and explained why they needed to lie to the police. Cas even looked at him like that when he walked through a shower of sparks (literal sparks) and thunder into Dean’s life and told him he was worth saving. Cas looked at him like that in 2014, the shell of his former self, still looked at Dean with the same reverence, the same open affection. Dean stared at Cas’ back, his mouth slightly open. He couldn’t recall a time where Cas looked at Sam like that. Or anyone for that matter. He looked at Dean as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Dean slammed his mind shut, squashing the direction these thoughts were taking him. He could feel his erection began to flag, in spite of the friction walking caused. He felt shame. He could never be the man Cas thought he was. It was too late for that. He was ruined, he had let everyone down, he had broken the world. He thought of Sam. How he had let him leave, because Sam said he didn’t feel strong enough to face Lucifer. Dean furrowed his brow and racked his brain on how he would make it up to Sam. Even if he had to bargain with his soul again, or what was left of it, he would free Sam from Lucifer and make up for failing him so miserably.   
Dean had been walking with his head down, and nearly rear-ended Cas, not noticing that he had stopped in his tracks. “Damn Cas, what the hell…” Cas held his hand for silence. Dean went on alert and took in his surroundings. They had made it to the edge of the woods, where the desert hadn’t taken over. The last leg of the trip had been skirting around skeletons of trees and dead land. Now it was transitioning into green, the woods lush, the earth somehow not poisoned here, and the cool air drifted toward them, ruffling Cas’ too-long hair. Cas had tensed with his head cocked to the side staring into the dark of the woods, where the trees seemed to thicken to the point of barring light. Dean held still and waited. Finally, Cas’ shoulders relaxed, and he turned to Dean. “I thought I heard something,” He said, “but I’m not sure now.” He looked away guiltily, and Dean stepped forward into his space and gripped his shoulder. “Hey, man, it’s cool. I know your grace is…” Dean didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so he just looked at Cas apologetically. Cas frowned and stepped back, releasing his shoulder from Dean’s grip. “Don’t worry about my grace, I’m fine.” Dean threw up his hands, “I didn’t mean anything by it, I just don’t want you to use up what you have left-” “Or what, Dean,” spit Cas, “I won’t be useful to you anymore?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “No man, it’s not like that, not even a little bit-” Cas turned and stomped over to a clearing, and threw his pack to the ground. “I’m going to look for food, you look for firewood, we need to make camp before dark.” Dean just gaped at him, not knowing what to say. Cas walked into the dark of the woods, not looking back. Dean made his way over to Cas’ pack, and dropped his own. He looked around at the best spot for a fire to be set up, and a familiar glint of gold caught his eye. When Cas had slung his pack on the ground, something had slipped out of the pocket of the trench coat. Dean stooped and took a closer look. He sucked in a shaky breath. He had almost forgotten. It was the amulet Sam gave him, the one he never took off, the one he gave to Cas to help him find God, the one that was noticeably missing from Future Dean’s neck. Cas still had it. He picked it up and brushed his fingers over it. He had it in his palm when Cas returned, and he looked up to the angel, who froze when he saw what was in Dean’s hand. “You still have it,” Dean said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Cas continued to stand very still. “Yes Dean. In my timeline, you just gave it to me. I was using it to look for my Father.” He looked away from Dean, guilt flashing across his face. Dean looked at the amulet, touching the horns, remembering how often he chewed on them when he was forced to research for hours with Sam. He closed his hand around it, feeling how it poked into his palm. He smiled to himself. Cas waited. Dean looked up into Cas’ eyes and held his stare. “You had it all this time and never said anything,” Dean stated, his voice rough. Cas broke eye contact and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, “I was...hoping I could still find my Father,” he finished lamely. Dean considered this for a moment. He supposed that might be true. Possible. But he had a feeling Cas was holding on to it for very different reasons, reasons they were in no position to talk about just yet. Dean flashed an innocent smile at Cas, and held out the amulet to him. “Well, I guess I should let you keep holding on to it, then.” Cas looked back at him skeptically, but stepped forward and held out his hand. Dean dropped the amulet into it, and watched as Cas studied it, then placed it around his neck. Dean returned to the fire building and dug through his memories of 2014 Cas, trying to remember if he had seen him with the amulet. It was possible. He may have been wearing a necklace when Dean first came upon him organizing an orgy. He shook his head. That was an upsetting memory to say the least. He wanted to shoot his future self right in the fucking skull for what he had turned Cas into. Dean snuck a look over at Cas and was once again hit with the subtile way Cas was starting to look like his future self. He promised himself right then that he wouldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t become so hard that he would sacrifice his only friend in the world, the only one left who saw who Dean really was but loved him anyway. Dean felt warmth in his chest for the angel, and wished he could change the way things were. Dean wanted to touch him again, but needed to keep from getting distracted from the mission. He supposed they would have time later to work that stuff out anyway.   
The fire was built, the rodent du jour was on the spit, and the two sat in companionable silence. The awkward tension that had been binding them for the last few weeks, seemed to dissipate. The food was ready, and Dean looked to Cas. So far, Cas hadn’t eaten anything since Dean and him met up, but Dean swore that he heard Cas’ stomach growl. Cas blushed slightly, and Dean grinned. “I heard that,” he said, “turns out you might need to eat, huh?” Cas rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to eat, Dean, you know that.” “Well your tummy tells a different story,” he chided, “there’s plenty to eat, just try some.” Cas looked at the meat in Dean’s hands and wrinkled his nose. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” Cas took the meat Dean was offering, and took a small bite. Then another. Suddenly Cas attacked the food with fervor, some kind of hunger woke in him, the human part of him becoming aware he was starving. He moaned around a mouthful. He was intensely focused on his food, so he didn’t notice Dean staring at him, mouth open, shivering at the pornographic sounds Cas made as he ate. Dean could feel himself get hard again, and cursed the lack of ‘alone time’ being on the road with a companion gave him. Before Cas showed up, Dean would camp alone, and when the mood struck him, he would lie on his bedroll and watch the stars slowly appear and rub one out. Those were some of the only small reprieves he would get in recent history, dick in hand, moaning loudly and pinching his nipples, sometimes fingers slick with spit shoved up into himself, plunging in hard, searching around for the magic spot that would make him arch his back and come instantly, washing the world out for a few glorious seconds. Outside under the stars, Dean felt a freedom in it, legs wide open facing the sky, shouting as he spurted hot, white come all over his bare chest and fist. He wasn’t afraid of anyone seeing him, in fact, he hoped the decadent moans and shouts would lure the demon back to him, like bait. Those demons were some kinky fuckers, and he was sure they would dig that voyeurism vibe. Not to mention the fact that Dean often got off on the simple fact that he was spread-eagle for the world to see, and he could get caught. The risk of getting caught was enough to slam an orgasm through with such force, that he felt momentarily vulnerable, even though he had the Colt tucked under the side of the bedroll, cocked (haha) and ready.   
He wondered if he could wait until Cas was asleep (he seemed to be drifting off more and more toward sleep these days) and hide deeper in the woods and relieve this reoccurring erection. He wasn’t going to say anything about it to Cas, he just needed a few moments. The more he thought about it, and with the aid of Cas moaning and smacking his lips around a bone (haha again), he needed to go sooner than later. Dean turned around in his seat and stood facing away from Cas. “Hey...uh, I’m going to go take a piss, you know, find a friendly bush and whatnot.” He didn’t have to turn his head to know Cas nodded in acknowledgement. He quickly made his way out of the circle of light that the fire provided. He walked a bit further into the woods, but still within sight of Cas and the fire, and leaned against a tree. He sighed as he unzipped his fly to relieve the pressure. He was achingly hard now, andhad leaked pre-come into his underwear. He pushed his pants down his thighs and ran his fingertips down the length of his cock, shuddering at the touch. Dean moaned quietly, but bit it off when he saw Cas raise his head in his direction. Dean paused his movements, and held still, watching what Cas would do. Cas appeared to relax again, and stretched out his legs with a small smirk on his lips and groaned as he popped his back. The noise went straight to Dean’s dick, and he bit his lip and his breath sped up. He started to stroke himself again, slowly, eyes locked on Cas’ lithe form. Cas had settled back against the fallen tree that were camped next to, and he looked around, maybe to see if he was alone. Dean froze. This could get very interesting, he thought. Cas began rubbing himself through his dress slacks, and let out a sigh of contentment. Dean watched with eyes wide as Cas gripped his steadily hardening cock through his pants. Dean began moving his hand again, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nipples and rub them into hardness. His eyes snapped back up when he heard a soft moan coming from Cas’ direction. Dean swallowed around the dryness in his throat as he watched Cas unzip and slip his long delicate fingers into his fly and gently and slowly pull out his hard cock. Cas threw back his head as he gripped himself, and groaned in pleasure, not controlling his volume. Dean gasped and had to stop himself from coming right then. He gripped the base of his dick and waited, because he didn’t want to miss anymore of the show Cas was putting on. Cas leaned back and started to pull on himself in long slow strokes, while his other hand ran up and down his chest, pausing to flick his nipples and pinch them, shivering when he did. Dean began to copy his movements, long strokes and rubbing his chest again. Cas let his other hand wander lower to his balls, which he squeezed pulled on gently, massaging them. Dean was panting as quietly as he could, rolling his own balls in his hand. He watched as Cas continued his journey southward to his perineum, which although Dean couldn’t see clearly he guessed Cas pressed on it which caused him to arch his back in ecstasy. Dean did the same and his excitement grew when Cas pulled his fingers back up and began to suck on them, wetting two of them liberally. Dean mimicked the move, groaning around his fingers and pretending they we in Cas’ mouth or they were Cas’ fingers, he couldn’t decided which was hotter. His eyes fluttered at the sensation, but he snapped back to attention so he wouldn’t miss what he hoped was the next step. He sucked in a big breath as he watched Cas flick his nipples once more before running his hand along the inside of his thigh. Cas slid his pants down further, then off, and move his legs apart to accommodate his hand. He was facing Dean and Dean could see everything. He saw when Cas circled his entrance with his fingers, teasing himself and drawing out sounds from himself. Dean saw Cas breach himself gently with his middle finger, moving it slowly in and out. Cas added his forefinger, so dean did as well, feeling the burn and stretch that came along with it. Without warning, Cas jammed his fingers hard up into himself, which dean followed suit, and both opened their mouths in a silent scream. Dean watched as Cas closed his eyes and threw back his head, then hunching slightly to get a better angle, and started to thrust himself onto his fingers, and then fuck upwards into the circle of his fist. He paused to lick his palm and tightened his grip on his cock. Dean was sweating hard now, and felt himself rushing toward the edge, his balls tightening up, heat pooling in his abdomen. He wanted to come exactly when Cas did, so he had hold out as long as he could, but he was losing that race. Cas had spread his legs impossibly wider, and Dean could see the slickness of Cas’ saliva lubricating his fingers glinting in the light of the fire as they twisted in and out of Cas’ hole. Dean felt a string of drool leave the corner of his mouth but couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away. He started twisting his fingers in tandem with Cas. He was so close now, and he prayed fervently for Cas to come now, come hard and do it now. He wanted to see an explosion of come from the angel, his angel. He no sooner had that thought, when Cas stilled his movements and arched his back, opened his eyes looking straight toward Dean and shouted out Dean’s name, his voice loud and broken. A large spurt of white erupted from his cock, hitting his chest and neck and even his cheek. Dean came at that exact moment, and he wavered on trembling legs as his orgasm ripped through him, trying desperately to hold his eyes open so he could watch Cas ride out the waves of his own orgasm. Dean pulsed around his fingers, and his cock kept pumping come over his hand until it finally became too sensitive to touch. He watched Cas go limp, chest heaving, eyes still trained in Dean’s direction. Dean foggily realized Cas could probably see him, but that was ok, fuck, everything was ok, because he had just come watching Cas fucking himself and crying out his name. Dean slid down the tree trunk he was leaning against, simultaneously pulling his fingers out of himself. He had been holding that one in for so long, weeks (months?)even, so he felt drained and sleepy. Dean had his eyes closed with his head leaning back resting on the tree, with pants around his ankles exposed to the cool night air. He shivered as a breeze passed over his dick, but reveled in the contrast of hot, still swollen skin and the coolness of the night.   
He heard Cas before he saw him, but was too resigned to move. He kept his eyes closed and heard Cas slide down the tree to sit next to Dean, their thighs so close Dean could feel the heat radiating off Cas. Dean kept his eyes closed. “Well that was a thing that happened,” he said. Cas huffed a laugh, but remained still but relaxed, waiting for Dean to say more. Dean turned his head toward Cas, finally opening his eyes. Cas was about ten inches away, and Dean’s breath hitched as he looked into the angel’s deep blue eyes. Dean felt no shame at the moment, his brain still numb from the earth-shattering orgasm he just had. “You knew where I was and what I was doing the whole time, didn’t you?” he asked Cas. “I wasn’t sure until I heard you moan, Dean. Though many of my powers have diminished, my hearing isn’t one of them,” Cas replied with an amused smile on his face. Dean covered his face with both hands and groaned. That lasted about a fraction of a second, before he jerked his hands away, remembering what was on them. Cas outright laughed, and handed Dean his bandana which was already soaked with water. “Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmured with a flush to his face. “You’re welcome, Dean,” Cas said as he intently watched Dean clean the cooling come off his chest and stomach. When Dean was cleaned redressed, and standing, he followed Cas back to the fire on shaky legs, slumping down to his bedroll. His eyes were heavy and he cracked his jaw with a wide yawn. Cas touched Dean’s shoulder and guided him to lie down with his head in Cas’ lap. Dean was too tired and sated to object or refuse. He was asleep the moment he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Cas’ folded legs. 

Dean woke before the sun was up. He was a bit disoriented, and he scanned his surroundings. He saw the last glowing embers of the campfire, the bedroll he was laying on, but no Cas. Cas’ pack was where he had dropped it the night before, propped open where Dean could see that the dress shoes had been removed. Dean guesses that Cas was feeling the rough ground, or the chill in the night air was finally getting to him. Dean yawned, and assumed that Cas must have gone out early to look for food, maybe even take a leak. Dean smiled at this, and fell back asleep recounting the crazy night he and Cas had shared. 

Dean woke a second time with a start. The sun looked like it had been up for a while, and still no Cas. The fire was out, and nothing had moved, so it appeared he never came back. Dean jumped to his feet and pulled the Colt out from the edge of his bedroll. He paused for a second, looked back at their belongings, and quickly packed everything and scattered the fire ashes as usual. Dean thought about shouting Cas’ name out, but decades of hunter experience told him not too. He looked around for signs of a struggle, but saw none. He scrutinized the ground and found what looked like Cas’ foot tracks leading into the woods. Stashing the packs behind the nearest bush, Dean took off as quietly as he could, noting that the woods had gone quiet. There were no birds chirping like the day before. The crickets were hushed, and Dean got the distinct feeling he was being watched. He focused his ears, ready for an attack from behind, and tried to keep the bile down that was rising in his throat. Cas was gone and he didn’t even hear him leave! He was trying not to panic, knowing that it would distract him and put himself in danger. Thus putting Cas in more danger if he couldn’t find him. Dean followed the signs that Cas had passed through the underbrush. There was a broken stick there, and foot-sized pile of leaves with a wet underside that had been kicked over. Further along, Dean spotted something resting on top of a rotting log. He jumped a felled tree and skirted what looked like a sinkhole and skidded to his knees in front of his silver knife. It was laying there innocently, and Dean felt a cold sensation sinking in his gut as he realized Cas was unarmed. He surely didn’t have enough grace left to fight whatever he confronted in the woods. But that was the strange thing, there was still no evidence of a struggle. If Cas was able to, he would have left a sign for Dean. Dean scanned the area quickly, until his his eyes rested on his knife again. The blade was pointing North. Dean squatted down with his face close to the knife, turning his head to see what was in the path of the knife visually. Then he saw it. Cas must have put up quite a fight; about 100 yards away, there were newly uprooted trees, splintered branches, and the earth looked as if it had been churned- boulders were upended and split. Dean grabbed his knife and started running. He no longer cared about keeping quiet, something already knew he was here and no doubt was using the angel as bait. If they wanted to attack, they would have by now. Dean stopped at the wreckage for a moment and picked up the trail quickly. He estimated that he was heading due North, and tried to memorize a few landmarks so they could find their way back to their packs.   
Dean was running and ducking branches, following the disturbed earth, seeing where Cas must have been dragged, when he heard a yelp. He froze and ducked behind a tree. He waited until the sound came again. He slowly peeked around the tree in the direction of the noise. Through the trees, he could make out the outline of a large standing rock. He could make out the shapes of someone or something shifting around, so he pulled out the Colt and readjusted his grip on the knife. He cursed himself for leaving behind his pack which held the last of the holy water and salt. He would hope for the best but plan for the worst. Dean slowly edged toward the clearing and the standing rock. The closer he got, the more he saw of the clearing. Seven large monolithic stones were set in a wide circle. In the middle of the circle, there was a rectangular stone table, about chest height, with iron rings embedded in it. And on the table was the angel Castiel, lying helpless in the center, arms bound above his head, feet bound at the other end. He looked exhausted but alive. Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Cas was alive, but for how long? Dean continued to hold still, waiting to see what he was up against. Finally, a figure appeared from behind one of the rocks, holding something in her hand. Dean squinted, and a flash of light glinted off the object. His blood turned to ice as he saw the angel blade. The woman was idly fiddling it in her fingers while she talked, presumably to Cas. Dean cocked the Colt and took a step forward. He didn’t hear the form approach from the rear, all he felt was a blow to the back of the skull and everything going dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and post shorter chapters so I can post more often.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas do some bad ass stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me so far. Not much smutty smut smut in this chapter, but we had to get that plot moving along. I love you forever if you comment please, and I'll name my first born after your url if you gimmie kudos. Maybe. Again, I'm needy.

Castiel looked down at Dean. His face was slack with sleep, and his eyes were motionless under the fringe of eyelashes that rested on his cheeks. It took years off of him and removed the worry that usually creased his face. Cas gently stroked Dean’s head and rolled over the night’s activities in his mind.   
_He was not surprised that Dean would sequester himself to a darker part of the woods to relieve the sexual pressure the hunter had been feeling for the majority of the day. What was unexpected was how close Dean had stayed to the fire when he chose a place to masturbate. Cas kept his eyes averted, not wanting to disturb Dean and to give him space that he seemed to desire these last few days. The angel was still a bit miffed if not embarrassed at being called out on the loss of his grace. He didn’t want to lose his usefulness; without grace, he felt impotent and without purpose. All he wanted to do was help Dean. The urge, obsession even, was so deep it ached at his very core. The bond between his grace and Dean’s soul was faltering as his grace slipped away, and Cas had begun to panic. He needed that closeness like Dean needed water, and craved his touch because that was the only time he felt that bond- it had penetrated him as Dean penetrated him. Cas shivered at the thought. In the darkness of the woods, Cas heard an unmistakable noise. Dean had moaned. Softly, and in Cas’ direction. Cas could almost hear the prayer in Dean’s mind, the longing he felt. Cas smirked, and felt the very human feeling of desire start to burn through him. If Dean was watching, maybe he could be of help after all. He had slid to the ground and begun to stroke himself, hearing Dean’s heart and breathing speed up. The feeling when he penetrated himself with his own fingers was a rocket of pleasure, which mounted quickly knowing Dean was watching. Cas had been ready to come, right on the edge, when he heard Dean’s prayer clearly in his head, and he was flung over the edge, crying out Dean’s name-_  
Cas snapped to the present. He realized while he was caught up in the fantasy, the woods had grown very quiet. He pushed his hearing outward as far as he could. There, in the distance, was a sound of breathing. Cas very quietly moved Dean’s head from his lap, to keep from disturbing him. He paused and wondered if he should wake Dean, but decided against it; the hunter was so tired and needed a break from the hyper-vigilant state he had been in for the last few weeks (months?). Surely Cas could handle this on his own, _it’s probably nothing anyway,_ he rationalized, _just a woodland creature._ Inspiration struck Cas- if he went out and hunted whatever this beast was, he’d have breakfast for himself and Dean, and prove he was useful beyond what his grace provided. Castiel was an Angel of the Lord. He existed for many millenia. He led his garrison in battles in heaven, and fought his way through Hell to find Dean. He was excellent in hand-to-hand combat, and needed not only to prove his worth to Dean, but also to himself. As he set out away from the light of the fire, he twirled the silver knife in his fingers, longing for the weight of his own blade. When he flew, his wings were pulled from the Ether, and with them bound, he had no access to his blade which resided there as well.   
Cas made his way through the trees making as little noise as possible, walking slow and cautiously. He had paid careful attention to the lack of noise in the woods, trying to discern the direction of the breathing. Several minutes into the wood, Cas took a wrong step and snapped a twig. He froze and waited, cursing himself silently. He could hear the breathing to the left, but couldn’t get a line on it. The attack came from the back. Castiel caught the arm of his attacker, and twisted them to face him. It was a woman, incredibly strong for her size. When Cas was about to thrust his knife upward, she blew a powder in his face. He staggered, and loosened his grip on her. She slid easily out of his hands. A voice, also female, came from the left, “No, you bloody idiot, not that one, that’s the angel- that won’t work on him!” Cas took a deep breath and blinked rapidly. “But look!” sang out the woman who attacked him, “it’s affecting him, or wouldn’t he be smiting us right now?” Cas brandished the knife weakly. There was laughter as the second woman stepped out of the shadows. Cas could see she was holding something up, about chest level. The closer she got, the more the feeling of dread sank into his stomach. It was a slightly dirty, but perfectly serviceable, angel blade. In fact, Castiel’s own angel blade. His breath caught as she brought it closer, only a few millimeters from his sternum. Cas carefully spoke up. “First of all, that’s mine. I could recognize it even in that shit state. Secondly, why the fuck do you have it?” his eyes flashed blue. The woman’s lips quirked up into a sarcastic smirk, “Is there a thirdly?” “Yes. Unfortunately for you, I can draw power from it, and now you’re screwed.” The angel slammed his head back, feeling a crunch and shriek, while simultaneously grabbing the blade with his bare hand, shoving downward and spinning to slam the knife at his assailant. She ducked his blow and laughed at him. Laughed! Castiel could feel anger building up in his belly, combining with his newly charged (far from full power) grace, and light began to emanate from his eyes. The women were standing close to one another then; Castiel raised his palms toward them. As the light grew in intensity, A third woman popped into existence- grabbed the first two by the shoulders and zapped them out. Hot searing white light shot out in all directions from Cas, causing the earth to rupture around him, uprooting a few trees. Quickly, too quickly, the light dissipated, and Cas dropped to the ground, drained and weak. He heard a new voice above him snort. “Guess you blew your load, didn’t ya, angel?” Cas shifted to see who was speaking. This third woman, most definitely a demon, smirked at him and flashed black eyes. “I was hoping to get the jump on your cute little boyfriend, but I’ll take what I can get.” Castiel squinted his eyes and tilted his head. The demon’s vessel looked familiar, but Cas couldn’t place from where. He sighed, “What is it that you want from me?” He had not see a demon with the power to transport, that was a privilege reserved for the red-eyed crossroads demons. He guessed her powers had been increased having the two women in her company. The demon stepped closer, and the two others, who had cowered behind her, followed. The leader, he supposed (the others were not demons, but he assumed witches), barked an order out to the others, and they grabbed his arms and started dragging him through the underbrush. The dawn had been peeking up through the dense underbrush, and Cas estimated it would be another hour or two before Dean woke up. Longer, if his fatigue after last night’s rigorous activities was any indication. Cas pushed the thoughts out of his head and wished, not for the first time, that prayer was a two-way radio with Dean. Angel radio had been silent the entire time he had been here, and he didn’t feel as though anyone could hear his prayers. He prayed to his Father, begging him to help, to wake Dean, anything. He got no response. He still held out hope that someone heard, and he closed his eyes as the women tethered him to the table.

 

********  
Dean’s head hurt. Like hangover hurt. His muscles ached, and he felt a trickle run down the back of his neck. Slowly he tried pulling his sticky eyelids open, squinted in the harsh light, and waited for the world to stop tipping. He was sure he had a concussion. His hands were bound, but there was a little give in the rope. Dean tried to stay as still as possible, trying to take in his surroundings before those bitches saw he was awake. Two of them (one short and red headed, the other a stumpy blonde), were scurrying around and splitting up ingredients and snapping at each other. “Don’t be daft, girl,” spoke the redhead, “ya can’t put the basilisk fangs next to the shifter blood, ya know it turns it to stone. I can’t always cover for you, one of these days she’ll get angry, and I can’t protect you.” The blonde looked up with a guilty face and shifted some things around. “Yes, Miss Rowena,” the blonde said. “It’s ok love,” said Rowena, “just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” The blonde girl (who was sporting a broken nose and a painful-looking set of black eyes), Dean hadn’t caught her name yet, shot the elder woman a scowl behind her back and stuck her tongue out. “I’d watch that missy, If I were you,” said Rowena without turning around, “or I might cut that tongue o’ yours out. Having a mute apprentice is not without its charm.” Blondie’s eyes grew wide and she scurried off to the stone table to check Cas’ ropes. Rowena smiled a pointed little smile, and rolled her eyes in Dean’s direction. “Now don’t think you’ve gone an fooled anyone, deary, I dare say you’re not in any position to make trouble. I’ve relieved you of weapons, and you look right peaky.” Dean struggled to stand as she spoke. He nearly swooned, and decided it was a better strategy to sit his ass back down and see what unfolded. Dean chanced a glance at Cas, and his heart clenched. The angel was limp, but his chest was still moving up and down with each breath. He was covered in scratches, probably from being drug through the underbrush. His slacks were shredded, and one of his shoes had fallen off and laid forlorn at the foot of the table. Dean sucked in a breath. Rowena’s eyebrows lifted and her pointed smile grew, but remained dainty. “Ah yes, she warned us that you and the angel were...how should I put this, shagging like rabbits and making little puppy eyes at one another?” She looked positively delighted. Dean cringed and glanced away. “Oh,” said Rowena slowly, “so you love him, that’s it is it? This should get very interesting indeed.” She looked at him down her dainty nose, fluttering her dainty eyes, in fact the woman was too damn dainty, but Dean didn’t want to underestimate her, his run-ins with witched always ended up with lots of people unnecessarily dying. Fucking witches. Dean hated witches. More than vamps. More than shifters. Dean held her stare but said nothing. The witch shrugged her shoulders and flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and flounced over to the baskets of ingredients. “Well isn’t this a treat?” Dean whipped his head around to see the newcomer. He growled low in his throat. She was holding an angel blade, smiling warmly at him, but her eyes held absolute hatred. “Big brother Winchester, all tied up and nowhere to go.” “Ruby,” Dean spit out, “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you behind this. I knew you were fucked up from the jump. Couldn’t keep you filthy demon claws of Sam. I wonder if you had anything to do with him saying yes to Lucifer?” “Watch it Dean,” she countered, putting a boot heel on his thigh and pressing down painfully, “Sam meant something to me, so shut up about things you don’t know shit about.” Dean rolled his eyes hard enough for them to fall out. “Whatever, bitch, Lucifer send you here? Like some sort of psycho anti-Charlie’s angels?” Ruby smiled, her brown eyes flashing in amusement. “Lucifer’s angels, I like that, I’m gonna use that,” she chuckled to herself, “No Dean, he’s not why I’m here. You’ve been chasing someone who doesn’t like to be bothered. It needs to stop. I can’t let you go after him anymore, but I can take you straight to Sam.” Dean quit breathing, but tried to show no reaction. If Ruby was offering to take him to Sam (Lucifer), it meant she wanted something in return. His habit of deal-making with demons always came back to bite him in the ass. “I don’t know what you’re selling, sister, but I ain’t buying.” Ruby tossed her hair and glanced at Cas. “It isn’t like that Dean, I’m sure we can come up with something, like a fair trade-” “No deal,” said Dean firmly, “and you can suck it.”   
Ruby smirked at him. “Come on, Dean, you and I know you’ll always choose Sam first. It’s like a thing with you. You’ve killed anyone or anything that’s gotten between you and saving your brother. How’s that working out for you, huh? Any luck finding him on your own? No? Well what I’m offering will fast-track this mission of yours.” Dean followed Ruby intently with his eyes, as he carefully wiggled his hands against the ropes behind his back. He had almost freed his left hand, and could almost reach the thin razor blade sewn into the hem of his plaid shirt. No one ever checked there. Ruby, who seemes to like the sound of her own voice, continued, “It’s not like it really matters, anyway. He’s not even really from this timeline.” Her eyes flashed over to Cas, still stretched out on the table, bookended by the two witches who waited silently. “If you do what I think you want to do, it’s a suicide mission anyway, so why delay the inevitable and just let your friend die here, finally being useful to someone?” There was a groan from the the table. “Dean.” Cas grumbled, “take the deal. They’ll let you go, it’s your only option to find Sam.” “Cas,” Dean ground out, “shut the fuck up, man, there’s always another way.” Ruby barked out a laugh, “Isn't that the Winchester way. Make it as hard as possible even though the simplest answer is right in front of you.” “Dean. It’s ok, I can do this let me help you,” Cas lifted his head with effort and caught Dean’s eye. “Cas,” warned Dean. “No Dean, I’ll be alright, they just want my blood for a spell. I think they mean to try and reopen Heaven’s gates.” Cas widened his eyes pointedly at Dean and gestured with his head to his hands. One was loose. Ruby turned to Cas, a mocking impressed look smeared on her face. “Oh, quick one, Castiel,” she said, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag. My father is looking at expansion of his kingdom, and that seems to be the real estate he wants. And what Papa wants, Papa gets.” “What, Hell on earth isn’t enough for that douche?” snarked Dean, “Fuck it, there’s plenty of douchebags upstairs, I’m sure he’ll fit right in.” “Dean,” Cas admonished, “I believe the problem was that Lucifer did not fit in, and that’s why my Father-” “Cas- shh, man I’m trying to make a point,” Dean said, _be prepared to take out the redhead when I toss you the angel blade,_ he prayed, side-eyeing Cas. Cas nodded imperceptibly. Dean returned his focus to Ruby, trying to keep her occupied. She had wandered closer to him and was twirling the angel blade absently, giving him the opportunity he was looking for. A glint of silver at the waist of her jeans caught his eye, and he jerked back up to her face hoping she didn’t see him look. The demon blade, the one she had given Sam, was stuck in her belt a few feet from Dean’s face. She was animatedly talking some nonsense about Satan’s great corporate Hell expansion, and he took his opening. Dean kicked his foot out, striking her ankle, causing her to stumble, and Dean sprung forward and grabbed the angel blade. Without having to look and aiming just right, he flung it in the direction of Cas’ arms. The two witches who had been silent so far, sprung forward to aid their mistress when Dean made his attack. Cas’ arm shot up and he caught the blade mid-air, immediately slashing at his other wrist, expertly cutting that binding. The blonde witch saw when the blade flew over her head, and she turned back as Cas caught her in the heart, in a fluid movement, his legs still bound. Rowena had frozen, caught between the two struggles, hand holding her skirt, ready to run. Which is exactly what she did. She was gone before Dean even looked up from Ruby’s sparking and lifeless body. Dean looked at the blade and thanked God for small favors.   
Cas, looking rough and very tired, ducked down to the ground at the end of the stone table and retrieved his shoe. He sat panting as Dean stumbled over and slumped next to him. “No more wandering off, Cas,” Dean grinned, “I’d hate to see you get in actual trouble.” Cas snorted. “Dean, trouble seems to follow us around, so I acquiesce to stay by your side from now on.” Dean blushed and cleared his throat, smiling his crooked grin. Cas grinned back. They always did well in battle together, moving like a well-oiled machine.   
“Dean reached out and grazed his fingers over Cas’ arm. His shirt was torn, and pretty filthy, but he was fine. “Hey Cas,” Dean said, “did you leave my knife where I could find it? On the log?” Cas tipped his head to the side, “I didn’t have a chance to do anything once they tried to incapacitate me, perhaps one of the witches placed it there.” Dean shrugged. “As good an explanation as any, I guess.” When they were ready to stand, they made their way around the clearing and inspected the ingredients that were left behind. There were plenty of useful things, holy oil, several herbs which could make hex protection bags, and various other things that could later be useful. Cas picked his way through the items, as if he were in the produce section at a grocery store, pinching and smelling, gathering items into one of the baskets that laid on the ground. Dean had already dragged the two bodies together and was preparing to salt and burn them. Cas tossed Dean a large plastic bottle of salt from the pile, along with a bottle of what smelled like rubbing alcohol, and Dean did the burn without ceremony. He was happy Ruby was dead. But he couldn’t help but wonder if she was being honest about the deal. Dean stood watching the flesh blacken and curl, mulling over everything they had just learned. The man in black had to be a big deal for all this effort to be made to keep Dean off his trail. There was a way to open up Heaven again. Cas was fucking hot when he fought with that blade. The thought made him smile, so he turned, only to find Cas smirking and riffling through what looked like a pile of dried pig ears. “It’s my actual blade, Dean,” he said without looking up. “I’m not sure how, but somehow it’s mine, but...older, I think.” Dean chuckled, “I thought you couldn’t read minds, Cas.” “Dean, I can always hear you when you call.” Dean flushed, thinking about the night before, which seemed so long ago now. Cas went back to his shopping, and Dean hid his faltering smile as he thought about future Cas from 2014, and how his blade could have ended up in Ruby’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF Cas makes me happy in my heart. More smut soon, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm splitting this one up; it kinda got away from me. If there are cannon discrepancies, my apologies, I'm pushing ahead and am still beta-less.   
> Also this shit got way fluffy this chapter totally without my permission. But don't worry, shit always goes sideways in Supernatural, right? Love you all who read this, and please leave me a comment <3  
> And did I mention smut? Yeah little o that too.

_The rose was perfect. It unraveled itself, spiraling outward, a nautilus, mathematical in its beauty. The silk with which it was made was coveted by the fingertips, a softness that was almost intangible, a manifestation of gentle thought and feeling. A rose could heal a heart. It could show gratitude. The rose could show remorse, and beg to be forgiven. It could bring a blush to a maiden’s face, and reveal the intent of her suitor. It was one of God’s perfect creations, its beauty unmatched by other flora. It was the queen, and all else bowed in its presence. Even an angel could bow to this creation, love and devotion given with reverence, and look to it as if it held the secrets of the universes._  
Lucifer trailed his finger along the edge of the bloom, considering its delicacy. If he were made to protect its beauty and fragility, he would understand the command and obey without question. But never was anything so easy as that. He tilted his head forward, breathing in the sweet fragrance and closing his eyes momentarily. The juxtaposition of such beauty being revered by such blackness intrigued Lucifer. He smirked and turned. The twisted body of the eldest Winchester still remained sprawled on the ground, disturbing his reverie. A snap of the fingers evaporated the mess, and Lucifer returned his attention to the roses. The aching feeling of resentment rotted away inside of him, rage being an insufficient word for the burning ember of hate that fueled his very existence. He closed his eyes again and turned his attention inward. “How’s it going in there, Sam? Comfortable?” Lucifer smiled at the muted screaming coming from deep inside the vessel. “I guess not. I am truly sorry about Dean. He was wasting his time anyway. I just didn’t have the heart to kill him twice, I know how much he means to you.” He tilted his head and started the long maze through Sam’s mind trying to find where the boy had hidden. He tread quietly, not wanting to spook him. So far Lucifer had been able to keep Sam asleep or placated. Sam was strong, and that was a concern. If he tried to expel Lucifer from his vessel, it would be extremely difficult, but not completely impossible. Of course, Lucifer hadn’t shared that information with Sam; the illusion Lucifer had created for Sam in his mind seemed to be wearing thin. On occasion, such as seeing Dean, the veil would lift, and Sam would jolt out of his sedated state and react like this. Then Lucifer had to spend the next several days performing the tedious chore of convincing Sam that he was mistaken in what he saw, that it had just been a dream. Sam would resist, and the illusion would have to be fortified. It was incredibly distracting.   
Lucifer was very careful to hide his unease from Sam and all the demons in his care. Something had changed recently, and a feeling had come over him that was unfamiliar. It was connected to his grace somehow, a feeling of siphoning happening, and he could feel it depleting. His powers hadn’t diminished in a noticeable way- the demons were hard at work, capturing whatever souls they could get their hands on to maintain his power. Pathetic little batteries that they were. Good for something after all. But he also realized that it was a finite resource, and he would have to find some way to supplement it soon. As far as he knew, the other angels had slammed the gates to Heaven, so stealing grace was out of the question. He considered that. Perhaps the gates being closed was the cause of the grace depletion. If he could find some way to wedge his way in, he could renew it. He would have to do it quietly; he couldn’t get caught by Raphael- he was the only one left who could pose any threat. He would also have to keep the mission quiet from the demons,of course. There wasn’t much loyalty among thieves. He had very few trusted servants. There were the special few that followed him blindly and worshiped him as their savior. Ruby, his sweet Ruby, was an immeasurable resource. She had been responsible for him escaping the cage and for that he favored her. As her reward, he resurrected her and reconstructed her vessel with the hope she could entice Sam once again. He already proved that she was his weakness. She was a soldier, and many of the others feared her. She was his right hand, so he felt she could be trusted with this new mission. He couldn’t give away his weakness, not even to her, so he would have to construct a different motive for cracking open the Pearly Gates. 

 

******** 

Castiel looked at Dean. The hunter was inspecting the stash they had picked up from the witches. Cas observed Dean’s expressions, noting the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, and flash of mischief across his face when he discovered another ingredient that could be useful. Cas’ mouth twitched up into a small smile and he felt content. It was apparent that Dean was happy that Cas was here, and Cas was excited that he got to showcase his abilities without the benefit of his grace.   
They gathered all they could and made the trek back to their camp, following the disturbed undergrowth Cas was dragged through. It seemed they hadn’t been thrown too far off course, now they just needed to repack with the new supplies and relocate before the sun went down. They discussed it and decided to head further South, away from the witches’ camp, in hopes of throwing any other demons off their trail who might be looking for Ruby. How Ruby was even alive was still a mystery, but by this late in the game, nothing surprised Cas anymore. Their packs were exactly where Dean had left them, so in moments, they were making their way to a new camp. The sun started retreating at their backs after a few hours, and Cas started to feel the hunger again. They made the decision to go ahead and stop to hunt and make camp before the more edible animals went into their burrows for the night. Cas had made the mistake of trying to hunt nocturnal animals, and by the faces Dean made when he ate armadillo, it was a bad idea. They found a level spot, and Dean began to clear the ground for a fire. It had become very domestic, the routine they fell into. Cas would go hunt, and Dean would build camp. Cas enjoyed the peace of nature around him and he could momentarily forget the devastation of the world and focus on the small creations of his Father’s that remained. He had felt sad when he had to continue killing animals for sustenance, but the more human he became, the need for protein became evident. Cas was adept at foraging for edible plants, but it was exceedingly difficult to get Dean to eat anything green. If usually led to an argument, and Dean whining about cheeseburgers and then Cas had to listen to Dean try to remember every diner he had ever eaten in and rate the burger he ate there. Then pie entered the conversation, and it could go on for hours. Cas would sit quietly and listen to Dean, never interrupting, enjoying the passion Dean had for greasy diner food. He would smile when Dean looked his way, and nod when Dean needed him to agree on the validity of his current description of pie.   
Cas made his kill, a couple of raccoons this time, field dressed them and skinned them and made his way back to where Dean had built a small but warm fire. A spit was built, and they settled on the ground on Dean’s bedroll, only a hair’s breadth between them. Cas could feel the heat radiating from Dean’s skin, and it aroused him. He said nothing, because they hadn’t really discussed the events of the night before, and he needed to know Dean was comfortable with what happened. Cas didn’t know quite how to bring it up as this was not his area of expertise. Dean leaned slightly into Cas when he reached across him to turn the spit. He left their bodies touching when he settled back. Cas took this as a good sign. “Dean,” he said, “I wanted to ask you about last night and what we did.” Dean blushed and rolled his eyes slightly. “You don’t have to talk about that kind of stuff, Cas,” he replied, “It happened, we’re cool, let’s move on.” “Oh,” said Cas, “Okay, Dean.” Cas paused and tilted his head and turned to look at Dean. “But what does ‘moving on’ mean? Does it mean we can do it again?” Dean blushed harder, the red spreading to his neck. He covered his face with his hands so Cas couldn’t see his face. “Sure Cas, we can do that again,” came his muffled voice, “...and other stuff if you want.” Cas’ eyebrows shot up in interest, and he leaned closer to Dean’s face. His voice lowered. “What kind of other stuff, Dean?” Dean shivered slightly, so Cas moved closer to warm him. Dean brought his hands down and regarded Cas’ face only inches from his own, and their bodies lined tightly together. But he didn't’ move back. “You know, Cas...stuff,” he whispered. Dean’s tongue darted out and wet his lower lip. Cas caught the movement and subconsciously mimicked it. He could feel Dean’s breath ghost across his wet lip. His breath hitched, and Dean dove forward, catching Cas’ lip in his mouth, sucking and licking it before plunging into his mouth. Cas responded by grabbing the hair on the back of Dean’s neck and roughly pushing their mouths harder together. Their stubble rasped against each other, and the kiss became teeth and tongues. Cas snaked his hand down Dean’s thigh to find his already straining erection throbbing against his jeans. Dean groaned into his mouth as Cas rubbed him, and moved to unzip his fly. Dean copied the action and fumbled forward to unzip Cas’ pants. Moments later, Dean was free from his jeans and divested of his shirt and boots so Cas could grip him properly. Cas’ pants only made it halfway down his legs before he pushed Dean down to the blanket, sucking and marking his shoulder. He shifted his erection against Dean’s hip and thrusted against him. Dean sucked in a breath at the sensation and reached down and lined up their hard cocks, slicking pre-come over both and stroked a couple of times. Cas whined in Dean’s ear and grunted out his name. Dean shuddered at the sound and he sped up his hand. Cas felt the now familiar tightening and heat in his core. He reached down and caught Dean’s hand in his own, slowing him. Dean groaned in frustration, but stilled when Cas pinned him with a hard lustful glare. “Not yet, Dean,” he growled, “I want to fuck you. I want to feel you from the inside.” Dean moaned loudly, “You have no idea what quoting Nine Inch Nails does to me, Cas!” He bucked his hips up, but Cas gripped his hips and held him still. His fingers dug into Dean’s flesh, bruising fingerprints there. “I don’t understand that reference, Dean,” Cas said with a cocked head. “Nevermind, “Dean shook his head, “let me just get something, ok?” Cas let go of Dean so he could twist around above his head to his pack. Cas took the opportunity to shed the rest of his clothing. Dean dug around for a moment and came up with the bottle of rosemary oil. When the smell hit Cas, his body pulsed with desire as the memories of the weigh station flooded his senses. “This brings back memories, doesn’t it?” smirked Dean. Cas snatched it out of his hand and poured it over his fingers. “Slow down there, cowboy,” Dean said with raised eyebrows, “we have time and need to do it right. I’ve never, uh...I mean-I haven’t ever, um…” Cas’ smouldering eyes softened. “Dean,” he breathed, “I thought you’d had intercourse with men before. I assumed since-” “Let me stop you right there, Cas. I may have tons of experience with women-and I mean tons-” Cas frowned. “-but this whole dude thing is kind of new. Like very new. Um...you’re the only one-new,” Dean said sheepishly. Cas stared dumbfounded. “Dean, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have pushed you-” “It’s okay, Cas,” Dean smiled sheepishly, “I wanted to. I honestly did. I have to admit I was worried that it had all been part of the demon’s spell...but the longer we’ve been, you know...You know what? Let’s stop talking now, this is boner-killing chick-flick stuff anyway.” Cas’ smile had been growing slowly as Dean spoke, noting that Dean’s erection definitely had not gone anywhere. In fact, it seem to twitch toward Cas when Dean looked at him, blushing again. “As you wish, Dean,” said Cas. “Oh my god you did not just Buttercup me,” Dean rolled his eyes, but his smile grew bigger. Cas, missing the reference, ignored that, and instead lowered his dripping fingers to Dean’s testicles, where they rested, making small circles there, causing them to draw up. He settled back on his knees between Dean’s legs, his mouth sucking marks on Dean’s hip bones, and soothing them over with his tongue. He liked the marks. They meant Dean was his. If Dean would let him, he would cover Dean’s neck in them so they would be visible to everyone. Somehow he doubted that would go over well. He settled for marks on the hips, and moved lower to the sensitive skin of Dean’s thighs. Dean had been groaning and gasping, but when Cas sucked a red mark into Dean’s inner thigh, he cried out and reached down to grasp Cas’ hair. Cas looked up with his half-lidded eyes and noted Dean’s increase in heartbeat, and his pupils were blown wide. “Please, Cas,” he whispered, pulling up his knees and planting his feet on the ground, “please.” Castiel moved his hand lower, pressing his slick fingers on Dean’s perineum. Dean let out a soft moan and his breath caught in his throat. Keeping pressure with his fingers, Cas moved his other hand up and lightly stroked the silky skin of Dean’s hard and leaking cock. Dean made a shattered sound. Cas noted the increase of fluid, and drug his fingers through it to smear it around Dean’s shaft. Cas gripped harder, stroking slowly. He remembered how Dean had prepared him for penetration, and Cas had already experimented quite a bit when he got his own vessel, but he had never touched anyone else so intimately. He never had the occasion. He felt honored to be allowed to do this with Dean. His own erection throbbed, but he could wait. Now was about Dean’s pleasure. Castiel continued stroking Dean’s cock and circled his puckered hole with his oiled fingers. Dean stiffened up at the new sensation, but relaxed almost immediately. Cas took the opportunity to slip his first digit in up to the second knuckle. Dean arched up and made a pleasured noise, prompting Cas to start to drag it against the walls, exploring and stroking. He pushed further, twisting slightly, until he brushed against a smooth bump, causing Dean to arch up and scream silently. Cas watched his face intently, looking for signs of displeasure, but his unasked question was answered with Dean pushing back against his finger and moaning for more. Cas gently added a second and continued his push and pull and twist, pressing against Dean’s prostate until Dean grunted out, “Cas I’m going to come if you don’t slow it down,” Cas smiled and answered by pulling out almost all the way then thrusting in with a third finger. Dean cried out in surprise, then panted harder and fucked himself back on Cas’ hand while thrusting erratically into the circle of his fist. Cas leaned up, releasing Dean’s cock to put his weight on his hand by Dean’s head. Dean opened his eyes and stared up at Cas. Cas slowly withdrew his fingers, hissing as he brushed the excess oil over his own throbbing hard erection. Dean held his breath but didn’t break eye contact. Cas pressed the head of his cock against Dean’s opening, slowly breaching the first ring of muscle. Dean exhaled slowly, relaxing. Cas felt the muscles unclench, and slid slowly all the way in. Cas had never felt anything like it, so tight and so hot. They moaned together at the sensation, pausing as their bodies were flush together, waiting, staring, breathing heavily. Cas remembered the dull burning sensation from when Dean had first penetrated him at the weigh station, and wanted to wait until it faded to continue. Dean nodded slightly, and Cas pulled out almost to the tip, then slammed back in. Dean gasped, “holy shit, Cas, like that, yeah, more like that.” Cas took a second to focus on not coming yet, smirked down at Dean, then thrust again and again setting a brutal pace. This was not slow, sensual lovemaking, or teasing and fun sexy times; this was two men who desperately wanted one another, to claim and own and having no words to say it, tongues and teeth and cocks and sweat and heat and hard fucking saying it for them. Their bodies slapped together, filling the air with grunts and Dean’s incoherent babbling. Cas rocked back to lift Dean’s legs over his shoulders and raised Dean’s hips higher, at a different angle, and continued to pound into him. Dean broke eye contact to throw his head back, screaming silently. Cas reached one hand down and gripped Dean’s cock and pulled in rhythm with his thrusts. It only took four and a half strokes before Dean cried out, “Cas Cas Cas Cas…” over and over like a prayer, and spurted streaks of come all over his stomach and Cas’ hand. Dean’s muscles pulsed tightly around Cas’ cock in time with his orgasm. Cas thrust one final time and came, Dean’s clenching hole milking of all his come, causing the angel to fall forward into a searing kiss with Dean to ride out the waves of euphoria. When Cas opened his eyes and looked down at Dean, he saw tears had tracked their way toward Dean’s ears, and his eyes were bright. “Dean,” he croaked, “are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Dean chuffed and pressed his palms into his eyes to wipe them. “No, Cas,” he whispered, “I just...I don’t know. It just felt...I...I’m not good with words, you know?” He uncovered his eyes looked up at Cas, wide open and searching. Cas pressed his body down, right in the sticky drying mess, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s damp neck, breathing in his sweat, musk, and pheromones. Cas smiled against his neck. “I know, Dean. You don’t have to say anything.” Dean sighed contentedly, relaxing and pulling Cas against him harder. As Cas slipped out of Dean, he mouthed the hunter’s neck gently, licking the taste of salt, and grazing his teeth. “Mmmm...that feels nice,” murmured Dean, sounding as though he was drifting off to sleep. Cas kissed his neck with an open mouth, slowly increasing the suction, wondering if Dean would notice. “Hey!” Dean swatted lazily at him, “that’s gonna leave a mark!” Cas leaned back and grinned at him. Dean rolled his eyes, “you meant to do that.” “Now everyone knows you belong to me, Dean.” Dean covered his eyes again and suppressed a smile. “So fuckin’ cheesy, man.” But he still went on to pull Cas onto his side and let him be the big spoon. “Dean, we should clean up...Dean. Dean?” Cas sighed. The hunter was already snoring lightly. Cas shifted around to grab something to halfway clean them up, noting the need for a real bath, if they could find a creek in the morning. The food looked done, so Cas pulled it away from the flame. It would keep and they could eat whenever Dean awoke. Castiel snuggled around Dean’s back and closed his eyes, drifting lightly. 

 

********


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: temporary character death. Angst and fluff and moving the plot along.

Dean woke with a start, squinting at his surroundings. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. Cas was still there. Good. Better than good, really, fucking fantastic. Dean twisted around, groaning at his aching back (and other places), and looked at the sleeping angel. His mouth was wide open and he was snoring loudly. That explained what woke Dean up. Somehow, Cas managed to pull the blanket over them, and Dean was sad to leave the warm cocoon. But the fire was dying and dawn was approaching anyway. Dean sat up and observed the crusty mess still somewhat on his stomach and wrinkled his nose. He smiled, remembering last night’s dirty romp. Cas had been so attentive and fucked him so enthusiastically that he had come so hard he saw stars behind his eyelids. If he had known having a dick up your ass felt so good, he might have tried it years ago. But he had a feeling it wouldn’t be like it was with Cas. Like, he fucked him into the ground and didn’t let up until they were quivering and covering themselves in jizz. Just thinking about it, made his dick stand at half-mast. Ignoring it in favor of food, he moved carefully away from Cas to put a little more wood on the coals. Their dinner was kind of cold and he wanted to have it warmed up by the time Cas woke.   
Sometime after dawn, Dean shoved Cas’ sleeping form with his outstretched foot to wake him. All he got was a grumble and Cas’ hand sneaking out from under the blanket and gave him the finger. Dean cracked up, loud enough to end Cas’ sleep- but he was attempting not to smile when he sat up so it was all good. The two got busy with eating and packing up camp. “Dean,” said Cas, “I feel we need to find a source of water to properly wash our bodies and even our clothes. My shirt is wrecked, and I smell for some reason.” Cas lifted his arm and took a big wiff, eyes going wide and nose wrinkling in disgust. Dean grinned at him. “You can wear my extra t-shirt and jeans, but you’re right about the bath. Whore’s bath won’t cut it this time. We smell like blood, sweat, and some hard-core sex,” Dean waggled his eyebrows at Cas who responded by rolling his eyes. 

After walking about 2 miles, Dean and Cas both heard the unmistakable rush of running water. Within the hour they found a good-sized mountain creek which they followed to a decent sized waterfall. “Aw Hell yeah!” Dean exclaimed, “Cas, man, look! We get to take a shower.” Cas twitched a smile, not really paying attention as he was busy stripping naked. He was the first to jump in the small pool, and he gave out a loud yelp. Dean almost choked with laughter as Cas stood up, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. “It’s not funny Dean, apparently this stream is some kind of liquified ice. Or flowing from a glacier.” Dean shrugged his shoulders and smirked, jumping in as a response. Not a second later, he was scrambling up to the bank, lips blue and dick trying to crawl up inside himself. Cas gave him a questioning look- then looked at his own crotch with wide eyes. That set Dean off again. When he stopped laughing, he decided to man up and get back in and give himself time to adjust to the cold. He knew they needed to take advantage of this rare opportunity- most of the running water wasn’t working back in the cities, so an actual shower would be a luxury. Even a cold one. He got back in with Cas, who already seemed to be adjusting to the water, and pulled him over to the waterfall. They groaned in sync and the pounding water hit their sore backs and scrubbed them clean. Cas turned his face up into the flow, holding his breath but getting a mouth and nose full of water anyway. After coughing it out, he left Dean to wade out to the middle of the small pool. He floated on his back and looked at the sky. Dean watched him, and smiled at how peaceful he looked. He hadn’t seem him without his brows scrunched together in a while. Cas took a breath and sank below the surface. When he emerged from the water, he looked cleaner somehow. But not just his body. Something else. Dean moved from the spray. And waded to him. They embraced for a moment, then returned to the shore to scrub out their clothing. Dean was holding up his jeans frowning, the blood stain in the knee wasn’t coming out. Cas took it from him and instructed Dean to go through his pack and find the lye soap he picked up from the witches. Dean rummaged Cas’ trenchcoat turned backpack and found the soap. He tossed it to Cas and rummaged again, wondering what else was in there he had missed. Along with a few unlabeled bags of hair (gross), a large chunk of some kind of root, there was a silk bundle. Dean untied the ribbon around it and gently opened the bag. In the bottom were several dried rose blooms of varying color. “Cas.” Dean said, “Hey Cas,” Dean looked up and realized he wasn’t being heard over the rushing water. Cas still had his back turned, scrubbing lather into Dean’s favorite jeans. He was still bare-ass naked, and he had almost a full beard now. His tattoo, intricate wings wrapping around his ribs and down the backs of his arms was glistening with creek water, and Dean could see the two parallel cuts he had made to release the memory spell. Cas looked so powerful yet so vulnerable and Dean’s chest ached. He knew what he felt toward Cas, that wasn’t news, but he hadn’t felt this blindsided by the need to protect him. Cas continued to scrub and inspect and hang clothes over branches to clean them. Dean stuffed the roses back in the bag and sat down to finish air-drying and pondered their situation. He was starting to worry about his mission and where Cas fit into it all. He couldn’t bear the idea of getting Cas killed, he got enough of his friends and family killed over the years as it was. He was so used to being alone; it afforded him the freedom of not having to be responsible for anyone else’s lives. And Cas just had followed him into the desert with very little information and some probably misplaced faith in Dean. Dean froze. He thought back to the witches’ circle where Cas had been bound to the table. Cas had told him to go on without him. To take a demon’s deal in exchange for Cas’ blood. He had yet to ask him about this, at the time it seemed like a play to get Ruby talking and to distract her from seeing them plan an escape. It could have been strategy, but Dean had a suspicion that there was more to it. He decided to wait to confront Cas, but he had enough on his plate (losing grace must really suck) without having to defend his actions to Dean. Instead, Dean moved closer and wrapped his arms around the sort-of angel and kissed his tattoo. He pressed kiss after kiss into his skin, pushing his uncertainty away and relishing this break from the hardship of his mission. Their mission, he supposed. It seemed like Cas was in it for the long haul. Cas leaned back into his touch and hummed and kept working.

The sun had moved in the sky, so everything was basically dry. Dean and Cas packed up all their belongings and agreed to hike upstream. The creek flowed down from the mountain, and Dean figured they would eventually hit a road or something. Still traveling east, the two picked their way up steep inclines and boulders, stopping occasionally to look at the view. Dean saw the long expanse of desolate land that he had traveled. It looked so small from up there. It was strange to think how different things were now. He was no longer alone for the first time in a few years. He had Cas. They would catch up to the demon and get to Lucifer and rescue Sam. 

After what seemed like several hours of exhausted climbing, Dean spotted a guardrail. “Cas,” he panted, “up there. A road.” Cas swiveled his head back to the front and grunted agreement in response. They increased their speed, legs and arms aching from the climb. There were dry leaves all over the place, and it made their feet slide as they ascended. Dean could see the road the closer they got. It was a state road overpass. The guard rail led to a tunnel bridge that passed over the rushing water. The creek at this point seemed to be coming directly out of the earth, its source deep inside the mountain. The tunnel seemed to cut right through the mountain, and Dean could see a cluster of cars and trucks at the entrance. “Cas!” he called in a loud whisper. Cas stopped and looked back at him, his eyes questioning. Dean climbed closer and leaned into Cas so he could be quieter. Hopefully they hadn’t been heard; he wasn’t sure if there was even anyone up there, but they couldn’t risk it. “We need to do this quietly and slowly cause there might be croats up there. Where there’s abandoned cars, there’s usually croated-up crazies running around somewhere. Cas nodded and they continued in silence to pick their way to the top without rustling too many leaves or knocking lose too much gravel. When they got eye-level with the road, Dean held Cas back with his arm and paused listening. It sounded clear so he popped his head up to quickly survey the area. All he saw were vehicles, long abandoned by their drivers, with doors open and some involved in what looked like a spectacular pile-up. He motioned to Cas and they both stood and swung their legs over the guardrail landing on horizontal ground for the first time all day. Dean groaned aloud at the relief in his leg muscles and back. Cas grinned at him. “Cas, don’t even start,” Dean said trying not to smile, “I know I’m no spring chicken, no need to remind me.” Cas shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Dean,” he said, looking smug, “technically I’m much older than you.” Dean snorted and turned to check out the tunnel. They walked to the entrance, climbing over a few cars, looking inside for anything worth salvaging. Dean looked longingly at a vintage black Roadrunner, flashing back to the last time he saw his baby, and the empty rusting hulk she had become, left to rust in the tall weeds at Camp Chitaqua. He felt a surge of resentment toward Future Dean. He had let everything he loved fall to shambles and seemed indifferent about it. His best friend, his baby (home), and he was even going to sacrifice his brother in favor of shooting Lucifer with the Colt. Dean reached down automatically and stroked the Colt where it was strapped to his hip. He pulled it and checked the amo. Loaded, but with only four bullets. They were extremely hard to come by, and he had spent entirely too much time in the last year tracking down silversmiths and holy men to make more. Dean looked to Cas, but he already had the angel blade out. It glinted in the sun as it filtered through the trees. Cas had spent some of the morning polishing it and and holding it, trying to feel a charge. He told Dean that it had expended most of it’s charge in the woods with the witches, but it was still lethal in his hands   
They looked at each other and in wordless agreement and started forward into the darkened tunnel. Dean estimated it was only a third of a mile long, and they could see the sun shining at the end. It was pitch black otherwise. Dean could see a few large lumps scattered through the tunnel in the shape of cars. He paused, listening. There was a low scraping sound coming off from the far left, barely heard over the sound of rushing water. The creek ran underneath the tunnel bridge, and the roaring sound seemed to vibrate the walls. He turned to Cas to ask him what he heard, his eyes widening as a figure came lurching toward Cas behind him. Cas saw his expression and swung around sharply, pushing off the arms of his attacker and smashing its face with his elbow. It let out a shriek, too loud in the darkness. It came back at Cas, unrelenting, but Cas almost gracefully stabbed it in the chest and shoved it to the ground with his foot as he pulled his blade from its body. Dean had been ready with the Colt, in case Cas needed backup, but he could clearly handle himself. Dean pulled the silver knife out- the thing’s shriek was too loud and a gunshot would be way louder in the enclosed space. They didn’t need to attract more attention than they already had. Dean stepped up to Cas’ side and inspected what had attacked him. It was definitely a croat, and where there was one, there was many. This one seemed to be falling apart, her hair matted and straggly, and missing chunks in some places. Her eyes were sunken far into her head and the typical croat red rings around them were now black. Cas shuddered in disgust next to Dean. “Yeah doesn’t look good. That’s new.” Dean and Cas cautioned forward, Cas turned backward to watch for rear attacks. Dean was finally adjusting to the darkness, as long as he didn’t look directly at the bright light of the tunnel exit. It kept pulling his eyes to it though, and he swear he saw something flash past it in his peripheral. His head snapped up. A cackling voice rang through the echoing tunnel. It was loud and booming over the sound of the water. Dean felt Cas freeze next to him, hand on Dean’s arm. The silhouette of a tall, broad figure stood at the exit, outlined by the bright sun. His face wasn’t visible, and he was several hundred feet away, but by the sinking feeling Dean got in his stomach, he knew it was the man in black. “So,” said the man, “you made it this far, I can’t say I’m not impressed. It’s quite a feat for a mud-monkey such as yourself.” Dean furrowed his brow at the familiar condescending voice. He could almost place it- “Zachariah,” Cas growled out, hand tightening almost painfully on Dean’s arm, right over his scar, but facing the wrong way. Dean’s heart lept into his throat and rage started building from his core, consuming him quickly. “You son-of-a-bitch, I’ll fucking kill you!” Dean spit out as loud as he could. Cas yanked Dean back as he tried to barrel toward him. “Let me go, Cas, I-” Cas cut him off with a sharp look. “Dean, he whispered, “I don’t feel any grace from him, but if he had the power to summon me, I don’t think it’s prudent to try and attack him without strategy.” “Dammit, Cas, I’ve been waiting for this for so long, it’s the whole point of all of this, it’s the only thing that matters…” Dean realized his mistake too late. The look on Cas’ face as it crumbled was quickly covered by his classic stoic look, one he had not expressed to Dean in some time. “Excuse me, lovebirds,” interrupted Zachariah, “I’m trying to make a dramatic point right now, and you’re really ruining this for me.” He pulled back his black hood, and Dean was able to make out his shining bald pate and derisive smile. “Anyway…” he continued, “I was going to offer you a deal, Dean.” “Yeah, well,” Dean spat, “Been there, done that, already turned it down, then sliced up your comrades.” Zachariah rolled his eyes. “That was unfortunate. It is so hard to find good employees these days. Not much left to pick from. The occasional demon with a common goal willing to team up for a project, but then she hires these useless underlings who put a kibosh on the deal before it even gets put on the table...so to speak.” Zachariah’s oily smile widened as he looked at Cas. Dean turned back to Cas and could feel rage rolling off Cas in waves, and his stoic face was replaced by the familiar smitey look. Dean instinctively stepped in front of Cas, in a protective stance. He looked back to Zach and snarled out, “What do you want? And don’t say angel blood because I will stab you in the eye.” Zachariah snorted. “No, Dean, I clearly have enough of my own. I just want to send you home. Good ole’ 2009. Back before this whole..” he waved his arm around in disgust, “mess. I still think I can get that yes. I bet you’re more inclined to say it now, am I right?” Dean paused and thought about it. Cas sensing his change in posture, swung him around to face him. “Dean,” he growled out, “you can’t possibly think that’s a good idea. He has been locked out of Heaven for some reason, and it’s doubtful he wants to make a deal out of concern for you. I know saying yes seems like a good idea now, but there has to be another way.” Dean smiled grimly, “that’s my line Cas.” Dean turned back to Zach. “Can you really send both of us back to 2009?” Zachariah choked out a laugh. “No one said anything about both of you. But i can ensure we return to right before Castiel gets summoned here. Then he’ll have no memory of this place and you two can get back to whatever it was you were doing. Except this time you’ll say yes, of course.” Dean felt Cas wince. He looked into the angel’s wide blue eyes. “I don’t want to forget, Dean,” he whispered. Dean felt his heart clench. He had no idea what to do. He had been so focused on the mission, he hadn’t considered the possibility of going back to the beginning, let alone Zachariah being on earth. He had assumed Zach escaped up to Heaven with the rest of those dicks when they slammed the doors. He must have really pissed someone off to still be here. Dean took a few steps closer to Zach, Cas shuffling warily behind him, dropping the grip he had on his arm. “Interesting offer, man,” Dean said casually, “but I’m wondering what’s in it for you. It seems weird that you’re just going around offering to Doc Brown my life but you’re getting nothing out of it?” Zachariah made a disgusted noise. “Of course I get something out of it you idiot! I want to go home too! I thought I got on board with the right people, but in the end, I got screwed in the deal.” Cas stepped forward, addressing Zach finally, “so you aligned yourself with Lucifer, is that right? What did he promise you?” Zachariah’s face softened with pity. “Poor Castiel, always dragged into the middle of the Winchester’s problems. Don’t worry, there’s something in it for you, too.” Cas tilted his head and frowned. Zachariah continued, “Of course I would take you back to heaven, you would receive revelation, and it would be back to business as usual. As long as Dean says yes to Michael. And this version of you would disappear and everything’s right with the world again. The timeline is fixed, the apocalypse is up and running smoothly again, and I’m back on the board making all the big decisions with the head honchos upstairs.” Zachariah looked very pleased with himself. Dean had stayed quiet during this exchange,but was slowly edging them closer to the exit of the tunnel. He kept the Colt out of sight, trying to get where he could line up a shot. Cas turned to him. “I don’t know, Dean, it makes the most sense. We could still have a chance to fix things if we went back. You would just have to fill me in on what happened here.” “Cas, don’t you dare.” Dean said reproachfully, “don’t let this guy get into your head. You don’t need to throw yourself on the grenade, man. He’s a liar and he thinks he’s got us by the balls. If he could do what he says he can, then why didn’t he do it back at the weigh station? Why did he go to the trouble of sending Ruby after us? None of it makes sense.” Cas’ eyebrows knit together. “Do what you think is best, Dean. I’ll always ‘back your play’.” Cas’ use of air quotes twinged something regretful in Dean’s chest. He remembered Future Dean and Cas snapping at each other discussing the plan to go after Lucifer, and how Cas agreed to go anyway, ultimately to his death. With love and longing and regret in his eyes. He would always sacrifice everything for any version of Dean, and it filled this Dean with shame. Dean turned back again to the smug ex-angel asshole at the exit of the tunnel. “No deal, you pompous, balding, bureaucratic asshat. You can take your time travel fix-it and cram it with walnuts, fugly.” Zachariah’s face looked thunderous. “Well, if that’s the way you want it Dean, who am I to get in the way of you picking pretty boy and your brother over the ENTIRE WORLD!” He raised his arms in a sweeping gesture, chanting Enochian. The booming sound of his voice caused the whole tunnel to shake and Dean could hear the asphalt under them begin to crack. He reached out to Cas as the ground started to shake harder. It sounded like the whole mountain was going to cave in on them. Cas reached back, fumbling Dean’s fingers as the ground lurched and tilted forward. A long crack was pushing the road up in crumbling chunks, and Dean scrambled to reach Cas. It was hard to see in the dim light, but he could make out Cas just as he tumbled to the ground. “Cas!” Dean screamed, “as hold on, I’m gonna get you buddy!” Cas shouted out something Dean couldn’t hear, and Dean hit the ground on his chest, the breath getting knocked out of him. He holstered the Colt as the ground was opening up beneath them, and the sound of rushing water was getting louder and louder so that it was deafening combined with the sounds of the tunnel collapsing around them. Cas was on the ground now too, about 10 feet in front of Dean, hanging on on an exposed piece of scaffolding. He looked directly into Dean’s eyes, wide and frightened, and then he disappeared, the road collapsing underneath him. Dean screamed his name and launched himself forward, arms reaching out for Cas. He slid on his stomach, roughly scraping his chest on the asphalt. He could see Cas in the dark, hanging from the scaffolding below Dean, water rushing unseen further down. It was dark and deep abyss. Dean pushed himself closer to Cas, hanging halfway off the edge, reaching as far as he could to grasp at Cas’ hand. “Give me your hand, Cas!” Cas reached back, but had to re grip the metal to keep from slipping. After a second try, Cas managed to grasp Dean’s right hand with his left one, and Dean gripped him with a crushing pressure and started to pull. The ground heaved again under Dean, and Cas had to let go and re grip the scaffolding. “It’s no good Dean, you need to get out of here, just go!” “Goddammit, Cas, I’m not leaving you! You just have to try harder, c'mon man,” Dean reached out again. Cas eyes widened as the scaffolding started to bend under his weight, and his hands started slipping again. “Cas!” Dean screamed hysterically, “Cas, no!” Castiel, Angel of the Lord, who pulled him from perdition, saved him from himself, who loved him without question, was going to fall and Dean couldn’t reach him. And it was all Dean’s fault. Tears welled up, and he blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision so he could see Cas. Cas looked up at Dean, his face relaxed. “Dean.” he said, “it’s ok, you can let go. It’s alright, I’ll be alright, there are other worlds than this.” “You don’t know that, how could you know that?” Dean sobbed. “I need you to promise me something Dean,” Cas smiled wanly, his arms tremoring with the effort of holding on. “Yes Cas! Anything…” Dean’s heart was in his throat and he could barely breathe. “Dean! Get out of here, please! I’ll find you, just stay alive!” With that, his hands slipped off the scaffold and he plunged into the darkness. Dean screamed his name until he couldn’t get any more air out of his lungs. The ground lurched, and Dean scrambled back, finding purchase on the uneven ground. The tunnel had stilled momentarily, so he turned, keeping himself low and scrambled to the exit of the tunnel, no option to go back. He spied his pack where he left it, and grabbed it as he ran. His eyes flashed on the familiar tan trench coat and he paused to sling the make-shift pack of his shoulder as well. His heart and lungs ached with profound despair.   
Dean stood looking at the tunnel opening. It, for the most part, had fallen in on itself. He hung his head and closed his eyes. He knew that motherfucker Zach was behind him somewhere, but he had nothing left in himself to care. Cas was gone. Again. He had failed. Again. He tried to do his usual, and shove it all behind the Shit I Fucked Up door in his mind, but the hinges were broken off and the door was in splinters. The contents were scattered in a pile, and the pile was roughly the size of Texas. Dean felt his knees give out. He crashed to the pavement, tears threatening to spill over again. There was no point to anything anymore. He was alone. Again. “Dean!” came the smarmy voice behind him, reminding him that technically he wasn’t alone, “don’t give up now, son. The fun’s just started-” “I ain’t your son!” Dean roared, springing to his feet, reaching for the Colt. “Now Dean, wait just a minute. Let’s talk this over, I may have some information for you, and you won’t get it if I’m dead, now would you?” “Dean paused, the Colt drawn and pointed straight at Zachariah. “Talk.” Dean growled, his gaze intense and dangerous. “If you want to find your brother, you have to first find Lucifer, right?” Zach started. “I know that, asshole, what’s your point?” Dean retorted. “Patience, Dean, let me explain,” Zach had the nerve to not even look scared, considering the one gun that kill all but five things in existence was aimed right at his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam looked around the kitchen. The sun was filtering through the blinds, and the clock on the stove read 7:00am. A folded newspaper laid by his breakfast plate; a simple bowl of bran cereal, half a grapefruit, an egg white omelette, and a cup of coffee. He picked up the newspaper and started to leaf through it, reviewing the top stories and wondering if he had time for a run before they left for church. The service was at nine, and Jess still needed to get the girls ready. Sam flipped to the smaller stories in the paper, looking for hunt-related articles out of habit, sipping his coffee. There was a small article about a woman mysteriously disappearing days after her husband, so he folded the paper with the article on top so he could call Dean about it later. It would be great if Dean came into town, it had been a few months since his last visit. The girls adored him, and he always brought presents like slingshots with silver pellets and necklaces with protection sigils. Jess had objected to the slingshots, but Dean charmed her like usual and eventually she let them practice in the back yard. Mary Ellen was a crack shot, in fact she had already broken a window, but Charlotte wasn’t very interested. She was only 6, but she could already take apart the land line phone and put it back together. She had found the video on how to do it on Youtube. Sam was only a little mad that she hacked his password and got onto his laptop. He was secretly proud and always credited her brilliance to her mom.  
Jess came in the kitchen in a flurry of sundress and light perfume. Her long blonde hair was pulled back at the sides and she looked amazing. Sam was always stunned at how lucky he was to have her. She was so patient and kind, except when you got her in a courtroom where she turned into a vicious prosecutor, hell bent on catching all the bad guys and locking them away. Sam smiled at her and put down his paper. She peeked in the skillet on the stove and smirked. She finally looked over to Sam. “Egg white omelettes? We’ll see how well that goes over with the girls,” she said. Sam's smile grew to goofy proportions, and he reached out and caught her hand, pulling her into his lap. “But I want them to grow up and be smart, strong, and beautiful just like their mom,” he said as he nuzzled Jess in the neck with his nose. She giggled and swatted him away and stood up. With a small smile still on her lips, she stood up and smoothed her skirt and went to plate some food for the girls. “Girls! Breakfast!” she shouted in the direction of the stairs. Barely a moment passed when a loud clattering of shoes and bickering ran down the stairs, stumbling into the kitchen. “Mom! M.E. says I’m adopted! Make her stop!” Mary Ellen regarded her little sister with a teasing smile, “You _were_ adopted. You were left on the doorstep with a note pinned to you saying that you would turn into a werewolf at the first full moon.” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at her sister. “I was not, you take that back, you jerk.” “Char! Language!” Sam admonished, fighting a smile. “M.E., cut it out, and Char, honey, you were not left on the doorstep by werewolves, vampires, witches or anything else your sister says. I was there when you were born, and though it was disgusting yet beautiful, you definitely are not adopted.” Charlotte smiled up at her daddy and stuck her tongue out at he sister. Mary Ellen rolled her eyes and sat down at the table. “Gross, is that’s what’s for breakfast?” “M.E.!” said Jess, “your father made that and we’re going to eat it no matter how gross it is,” she smiled puckishly at Sam as the said the last part. Sam snorted and returned his attention to his youngest daughter. “Honey get something to eat, we have to leave for church soon. I’m thinking about calling Uncle Dean and seeing if he wants to come for a visit.” Char’s face lit up and Mary Ellen fist pumped and yelled, “awesome!” “Okay, I’ll get right on that when we get home.” Jess smiled at him from the counter where she was leaning, drinking her coffee. Sam smiled back.  
Soon they were headed out the door to the car, and Sam realized he had left his phone on the charger. He thought he could do without it, but changed his mind and ran back into the house calling to Jess over his shoulder to go ahead and start the car. He rushed down the hallway into the master bedroom and unplugged it. He was getting excited about Dean maybe coming for a visit, and having a possible hunt would entice him more. He stopped and opened his texts.  
_Hey man- you feel like driving out to California? I got something you might be interested in_

Dean: _Either Jess made pie or she's finally gonna to hook me up with one of her lawyer friends_

_Yeah right, unless you like grumpy men in business suits, you’re out of luck._

Dean: _k gross not what i had in mind_

Sam snorted and grinned down at his phone.

_Actually I was thinking about a hunt. ___

Dean: _Im in. What you got?_

_So get this. This woman’s husband disappeared a few days ago and now she’s gone missing last night. Think this is you?_

Dean: _idk. I can check it out tho. Gives me a chance to see Jess and the girls, so yeah why not?_

_Cool. I’ll make up your room._

Dean: _Tell Jess I want pecan this time ;)_

Sam laughed and locked his screen and rushed out of the bedroom, realizing he had taken too long and they were outside waiting for him and now they would probably be late to church. Sam started going over the fastest possible routes to get there in his head, when he noticed the television was on in the living room. He paused, wondering why it was on; he hadn’t noticed the girls watching cartoons this morning. It wasn’t cartoons on, anyway. He walked closer and picked up the remote and pointed it at the tv. The scene was changing, and Sam froze and caught his breath. It was him on the screen. In a tacky white suit, but definitely him. His hands started shaking as he gripped the remote to turn up the volume. The Sam on tv had been saying something to someone and then the camera angle changed. Dean was there- holding a gun with a long barrel at tv Sam. Sam held his breath and his hand went up to cover his mouth. Dean cocked the weapon and fired, the loud crack echoing in the living room. Tv Sam jerked with the hit, but remained standing, and turned his head back to Dean. Tv Sam smiled and Sam watched in horror as the bullet hole slowly closed up and the tv version of him smiled wickedly. The camera turned to Dean’s face, who looked stunned. Tv Sam held up his hand, and in one twisting motion in the air, broke Dean’s neck with a snap and Dean fell to the ground. Sam slid to the floor of the living room, unable to breathe. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he couldn’t look away. Sam saw his tv self turn to a wild rose plant, and stroke the petals of a bright pink bloom. The angle changed again, and Sam saw another Dean walk up to tv Sam, looking down at the lifeless body. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned off the tv. He dropped the remote and put his hand on either side of his head, hyperventilating and rocking back and forth. What was happening to him? This wasn’t a bad dream, like the others (countless others Jess had woken him up from), this was really happening. In his living room. Right now. Sam heard a distant high-pitched screaming noise, and it took him a second to realize it was him. He was going crazy. That was the only explanation. He shook and screamed and screamed and memories started flooding in. Jess burning on the ceiling, Dad dying in the hospital, Yellow eyes, a demon named Ruby, demon blood, Lucifer. Lucifer. Sam’s head snapped up. The room had grown darker, and the air colder. Sam looked around frantically. The pictures on the wall were starting to smear into unrecognizable shapes. He watched as the large family portrait they had taken last Christmas reduce to blobs; his children’s faces distorting and running like candle wax. The walls themselves were spiderwebbed with cracks, and the light fixtures were rattling. “How’s it going in there, Sam? Comfortable?” Sam jolted at the voice and screamed. “I guess not,” continued the voice, “I am truly sorry about Dean. He was just wasting his time anyway. I just didn’t have the heart to kill him twice. I know how much he means to you.” Sam slowly stood, fear being replaced by anger. “Lucifer! Show yourself!” Sam looked around for a weapon, though he know basically nothing would kill the devil. He flashed on Jess and the kids- hopefully they were safe out in the car. He started toward the front door. “Sam,” came a calm voice behind him. Sam spun around and there he was, still wearing his Nick meatsuit. “There’s no reason to get upset,” Lucifer held his hands out in a placating gesture. “That wasn’t even real. What you saw on the television was a possible timeline that would come to pass if Dean says no to my brother.” Sam’s nostrils flared. “Where are my wife and kids,” he growled out, “what did you do to them?” “Sam, Sam, just relax,” Lucifer said, “they are fine, right where you left them. We just had a little glitch in the system, no big deal, just give me a minute to straighten things out and we’ll get back on track.” As he was talking, Lucifer had taken a few steps forward slowly, coming to a rest, leaning on the doorway to the hall- blocking Sam from leaving the house. Even as he spoke, Sam watched suspiciously as the cracks in the walls started to heal and the pictures became less blurry. “What are you talking about,” Sam asked, confusion settling over him, “what system, what does that mean?” he demanded. Lucifer smiled warmly. “Sammy, I’m sorry that I had to disrupt your happy little family life you got going on here, give me a few and I’ll be out of your hair. Everything's fine, it’s all going according to plan, your sacrifice will pay off in the end, I promise.” Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he snorted. “Sure, I bet it is. You have me trapped in this dream world while the real world goes to shit. I’m such an idiot!” Sam ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it in frustration. Lucifer smirked. “Look Sam, I promised you a life you never got to have, which I have provided in exchange for a short romp around in your vessel. You have to give me time. Once Michael and I have a showdown, we will come to a very civilized agreement, and I will return to Hell and take up the throne again and manage from that side, and Michael will run Heaven and we split the middle. Business as usual. No one has to die, and I certainly couldn’t kill Michael the same way you could never kill Dean. We’re brothers! Family! That’s what’s important, right?” Lucifer had edged closer to Sam as he spoke. He reached a hand out tentatively to stroke the side of Sam’s face. Sam’s hand shot out to slap it away. Lucifer smiled again holding up his hands, “okay, okay, no touchy. I remember.” He backed off and stuck his hand pointedly in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Sam slowly had slipped into defeat, shoulders slumping, head down. He knew somewhere along the way he made some stupid choices, but he couldn’t remember when or even what about. But the fight was gone out of him and he just wanted to see his family. “Sammy,” Lucifer drawled, “C’mon bucko, cheer up! You’re gonna be ok, just hang in there buddy.” Lucifer grinned batted his eyes. “Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam grumbled. He backed up against the wall and slid down to the floor. He was suddenly feeling very sleepy and closed his eyes for just a minute. He would deal with Lucifer, he just needed to rest after all that freaking out and adrenaline pumping through his system. A short moment passed when Sam felt a hand grab his shoulder and shake him. He woke with a start and flailed his arms, not wanting Lucifer to touch him. He made contact with something soft. “Ow!” came a very feminine voice, definitely not Lucifer’s. He turned his eyes up and met the face of his concerned and confused wife, who was rubbing her arm and giving him a Look. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry,” he got up slowly looking around the room, seeing the walls and pictures and everything looking normal. Even the remote was in its normal spot on the coffee table. He carefully stood up. “I guess I must have drifted off.” He looked sheepishly at his wife. She came forward and reached up on her tiptoes to hold the sides of his face and look into his eyes. “Honey, I’m worried about you,” she said, her brows drawn together in concern, “this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in some random spot and had nightmares.” “Nightmares,” Sam said stupidly, his eyes darting around the room again. “Yes,” she said, “Nightmares. I’m going to call Dr. Richard in the morning and make an appointment. You can’t put this off any longer.” Sam breathed out slowly. It had just been a dream. He had had these nightmares before, most about some end of the world nonsense. Having them during the day was a new development, and he had been putting off a visit to the sleep specialist… He looked down at his wife and kissed her gently. “Whatever would I do without you to take care of me?” he said. She laughed with her eyes closed, “Probably shrivel up and die, honey,” she responded, opening her eyes. For a moment, Sam could swear they looked a brighter blue than usual- almost glowing, but when he blinked they were the normal blue-green, bright and beautiful. He swooped in for a kiss and they lingered, breathing in each other’s breath. “Let’s go Sam,” she whispered, “the kids are waiting, and if we stand here much longer we will not only miss church, but I will have to do very sinful things to you.” Sam laughed and pulled her tight against his body. He released her and let her walk him to the minivan pulling him by the hand. He wondered again how he could get so lucky. She was the woman of his dreams and they had built a life here he was proud of, one he was happy in. His brother and dad visited when they could, but the on the road days of when he grew up were over and he had the life he wished he had as a kid. “Hey,” he said, remembering excitedly, “I went ahead and texted Dean, and he said he’d be able to come as soon as he could.” Jess turned and her smile was wide and genuine. “Great! Let’s tell the girls after church or they won’t be able to sit through the service,” She smirked and side-eyed him, “what kind of pie?” Sam laughed, the earlier stress melted away and just a memory. “Pecan. Oh, and he wants you to hook him up with a friend.” Jess snorted as she got in the passenger seat of the minivan. “I don’t have any friends left without self-respect for him to meet.” Sam laughed and put the van in drive and pulled out of the driveway. Today was going to be good day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Samifer, which I don't really ship, I just wanted enough for a little discomfort in Sam's perfect dream. In the next chapter, we get to find out what happens to Dean and that douchebag Zachariah.  
> Comment if you want, I'm ok with critique about the timeline, I'm really trying to stick with cannon, but I'm so all over the place I bound to mess up somewhere. Love you all, see you soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Zach have a little chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't sleep, this scene was keeping me awake. So here it is early cause I'm tired and need night-nights.
> 
> xoxoxo
> 
> Pardon the mistakes, I'll edit more when I'm not so dead

Dean’s finger itched to pull the trigger. The grief he felt, the anguish in his gut was boiling away, but he had to keep it together. Cas was gone but he had to push it down. It would be so easy just to blow this asshole away right now and be done with it. In fact, Dean wasn’t sure why he was even standing here letting him talk. He sneered in disgust, sizing up Zachariah for the first time in forever. He no longer wore that familiar suit and tie combo, and he looked in dire need of a bath. He wore a black shirt and jeans, with a long coat with a hood. He seemed to be having difficulty maintaining his vessel, assuming he was trapped like Cas was. He needed a shave and a haircut and maybe a decent meal. Dean would see to it that he would never get any of those things.   
“Dean Winchester. How long has it been? Two years? Three?” Zach smiled that oily smile and stepped toward Dean. Dean lifted the Colt again and cocked it. Zachariah stopped, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, I get it, you’re sore about being left here, I understand that-” “Sore!?” Dean practically screamed, “I’m so fucking beyond sore I can’t even see it in my rearview! I’ve moved on to raging asshole territory, with a side of bloodshed.” “Hey now,” said Zach, “no need to get snippy, this hasn’t been too easy on me either. Just imagine. Me! Angel, upper-level management position, left on this foul-smelling rock, with you _things_ , having to do all sorts of primitive things like eat...and evacuate my bowels. Do you get how gross that is?” “Yeah,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, “I’m familiar with the process.” Zachariah squared his shoulders and tried to stand tall. “It’s undignified,” he said, nose in the air, “frankly I question my Father’s decisions on that one.” “Says the guy who looks like he’s never seen the inside of a bathtub,” snorted Dean. Zach looked scandalized and put his hood up again to cover his disheveled hair. “I don’t believe that’s any business of yours,” he said. He looked pathetic, and Dean could _almost_ feel sorry for him, but the only reason he stood here alive after what he did to Cas was that Dean needed that information. After that, he intended to put a bullet through his borrowed skull and maybe behead him as an extra measure. “Enough of this bullshit,” Dean spat out, trying to calm himself, “if you have information, I want it now, and I want it all or so help me-” “What?” sneered Zach, “You’ll gank me? Did I say it right? You seem to forget I’ve been practicing witchcraft for a couple of years now. Although it doesn’t replace grace by any measure, it’ll do in a pinch. I’m impervious to your weapons, so you might want to just holster your gun and calm down.” A deadly smile snaked its way across Dean’s face. “Oh witchcraft, huh,” he drawled out, “interesting. You make a deal to learn all that?” He didn’t wait for a response, he didn’t give a fuck. “None of that fancy magic trick bullshit can save you from this gun. You don’t recognize it?” Zachariah had a superior look on his face, but the harder he looked at the Colt the more his confidence fell. “Is that the…” he trailed off, eyes widening. “Yup, sure is,” Dean said, smile growing shark-like and manic. “So I suggest you keep your hands out of your pockets and cough up Lucifer’s location.” Zachariah looked nervous and stuttered out, “Wai-wait, Dean! My man! Let’s not do anything we can’t undo. I can still be very useful to you, you know. I know other things, important things.” “Like what,” Dean huffed. Zach smiled reassuringly, “I know what Lucifer’s plan is. I’m not supposed to know, he didn’t tell me, but that lap dog of his, Ruby, told me. Really interesting stuff.” Zach looked hopefully at Dean, looking for an out. Dean ran his hand through his shaggy hair (Sam would be proud) and sighed, “Okay, I’ll bite, what does Lucifer have planned?” Zachariah broke into a smile, one which Dean wanted to punch out of his face. “See? I knew you could be reasonable, Dean,” Zach said smoothly, “I don’t care what anybody says about you, you have a good head on your shoulders.” Dean ignored the obvious dig and motioned for him to get on with it. “Okay fine,” Zach said, “just trying to make friendly negotiations here. Anyway, the rumor is that Lucifer is going to storm the Pearly Gates, take the war to Heaven.” Zach folded his arms and looked pleased with himself. “I already knew that, you winged dick, Ruby told me before I stabbed her,” Dean growled. Zach broke out into a grin. “Yes, but did she tell you why?” Dean was losing what little patience he had. “Some crap about real estate? I don’t know, I was too busy cutting her throat,” Dean saw his intimidating was starting to break through the smug prick’s exterior. “Well,” said Zachariah, his grin dropping off his face, suddenly looking nervous, “Ruby told me that she can tell Lucifer’s power seems to be draining. She thinks it has something to do with his grace. I didn’t even know he had grace, but I guess it makes sense, he is an angel after all, and even in the cage, Heaven was open so his grace wasn’t cut off, but for those of us here…” Dean waved his hand to cut Zach’s rambling off. “Oh, yeah, sure,” Zachariah said, “my point is, he’s trying to break into Heaven to get juiced back up. Which means…” he looked to Dean to finish his sentence. Dean stared back in stony silence. Zach threw up a flustered hand, “which means Lucifer is in a weakened state. You could probably get Sam to expel him! Great, right?” Dean cocked his head to the side. “What’s in it for you?” Zach made another abortive move toward Dean. “Look, Dean, I’m sure we can make some sort of arrangement. You want your brother back, I want Lucifer dead, and if we work together, we both get what we want!” Dean eyed him, not trusting a word of it. It sounded too good to be true, which meant it was. Dean was long done making deals with anyone. He took a deep breath. “The only reason you want me to go to Lucifer is so he can kill me and get me off your back, and then he can go ahead and crack open the gates and you can get your grace back, that sound about right?” Zach shrugged his shoulders, putting his hands in his pockets, “That’s another way of looking at it. But my goal is to go home. Don’t you want to go home, Dean? Before all this? If I get my grace back, I can send us there. All erased. Clean slate.” As tempting as it was, Dean was not about to risk saving his brother on the slim chance this asshole was telling the truth. “I don’t think so, buddy,” he said evenly, his voice going quieter, “I think we’re done here.” Dean steadied the gun. Zach, taking his last opportunity, pulled his hand out of his pockets and said, “I was hoping we could do this easy way, Dean, but I guess I have to show my hand.” In a blink, he had his hand up, blowing a powder in Dean’s face. That same instant, Dean pulled the trigger, and was able to at least see the surprised look on Zachariah’s face as the bullet disappeared into his forehead before Dean collapsed into unconsciousness. 

 

Dean woke coughing. Hard. He felt like his lungs were going to fall out. As he hacked, he looked around from his position on the ground. It had grown dark, but he could still make out the outline of Zachariah’s lifeless vessel in front of him. Dean stood, shaking his head to clear it, scooped up his packs and started walking in the dark. The moon was out, and the pavement seemed to glow in its light. He knew he had to get off the road to camp for the night, but it was too dark and he was too tired to set up camp. There were still a few cars scattered around, so he stooped and looked in each one he passed, trying to find one with a decent backseat to sleep in. He came up to a Ford Explorer circa 90 something. It was large and the windows were tinted in the back. The driver’s side window was broken out, so he easily unlocked it and crawled in the back. He threw his packs in the trunk and flopped down on the seat, falling into a deep sleep, so exhausted he couldn’t even take his boots off. 

Sometime, late afternoon, Dean leaned against the tire of the suv he slept in. He had woken up when the sun started heating up the vehicle, but since the windows were automatic, he had to retreat to the shade outside the car. He had a pitiful moment of hope when he tried the keys in the ignition, but the battery was dead or the gas had turned. No luck. He thought of his baby. _She would roll over in her grave if she knew I was going to drive a Ford. Probably feel betrayed that I slept in it._ Thoughts of his car always brought a smile to his face. He pulled his packs to him. His main backpack had been through a lot, it was dusty and torn in a few places, which he had carefully sewed up with the first aid kit stuff that he carried. He rummaged around to see if he had anything left to eat. He came across a bundle of cheesecloth-wrapped dried meat; some of the raccoon he had hunted a few nights ago. He paused. He was having trouble picturing exactly how he made the kill, but shook his head and took a big bite. He pulled out his canteen and washed it down. He sat for a while and contemplated where to go next since the man in black was now dead. He didn’t get the location on Lucifer, so it was a pretty pointless conversation after all. Knowing Lucifer had some sort of plan was interesting, and that he was weak brought up some good questions. Would the Colt work on him now? He would have to ask Cas- He stopped. Cas was dead. The demons had killed him in Detroit in 2014. And future Dean had sent him to that fate. So why would he think to ask him anything? He shook his head again, wondering what was in Zach’s hocus pocus powder. He was forgetting things. Like that Cas was dead. In Detroit. Dean ran his hand down his face. Something was wrong. It seemed like he was missing something, something important. But he couldn’t think what. He pulled his other pack to him- the one he made with the discarded coat he found at that weigh station. He picked it up because it reminded him of Cas, his Cas from before. He untied it and rummaged around in it, looking in it for answers. There were all the ingredients he had collected from the witches when they lured him to that place in the woods where he killed Ruby and that one blonde witch. That one redheaded witch (what was her name?) got away, and he was sure that she would let Lucifer know his location. And he wanted to kill her. Because witches. He thought he had got that angel blade from Ruby in the fight, but he couldn’t seem to find in in either pack. He stopped his rummaging and looked at the sky. The clouds were moving overhead, blocking the sun. He needed to get moving- rainstorms these days were violent and heavy, and if he got stuck on the road in that car, he might be there for days. Or swept off the cliff if the water got high. Dean groaned and stood up, his back aching from sleeping in the car, and from the near death experience in that tunnel. He had barely gotten out alive. He remembered Cas’ face flashing before his eyes when he thought he was going to die, which was weird, he didn’t know why he would think of the nerdy little angel. Sure, they had been good friends, that had been evident even when he was in 2014- Future Dean and Cas were still fighting the good fight, Cas loyal to the bitter end. Cas’ face flashed in his mind again. He shook his head and tied the packs up and set off down the road. He stopped, looked at the two packs and set them down. He took the one made from the coat and took everything out of it, packing it tightly in his main pack. It all fit pretty well, which made him wonder why he needed a second pack in the first place. His memories were foggy at best, so he brushed it off and untwisted the coat to put it on. It fit kind of loosely, but it would keep him dry, which is why he picked it up in the first place. That and it reminded him a little of the one Cas wore, and that was cool.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, checked the clock on the mantle in the Singer’s study. He tried to keep his face stoic, but his mind was elsewhere. He had other tasks to attend to. John Winchester had his head buried in his hands while Bobby Singer desperately searched through Revelations. Cas sighed loudly and was ignored. _It seems simple enough, they could just ask me. It's not like I wasn’t there when it was written._ He twitched his lip in a smile as he realized the amount of sarcasm displayed by both of the men in front of him had influenced his demeanor. He was somewhat attached to them, they had shown a tremendous amount of bravery in the face of this situation. John Winchester had resolutely decided he wasn’t going to “wear Michael to the prom,” and Castiel was impressed by this human’s integrity and desire to save the rest of humanity. When he had pulled John from the pit, Castiel was amazed to find out how long he had held out before taking up the knife in Hell. Castiel remembered the first time he saw John through the eyes of his vessel; when the hunter and Bobby had summoned the angel to the barn. Castiel was amused at their confusion, and made a big dramatic display on his way in to show them he was not another supernatural being they could vanquish. John had been so wary, and after stabbing and shooting Castiel, he reluctantly accepted the truth. Apparently Bobby had been telling the man about angels for years, yet the hunter chose to ignore it. His reasoning was if there was a benevolent God and His angels, why did they allow his wife to be murdered and his son grown up without a mother. Castiel was of the opinion that the Winchester father did the best he could with Sam, and was willing to let him leave the hunter life to finish school and go off to Stanford on a full scholarship. John was extremely proud, even if he had a hard time showing it. Their relationship was strained at best, Sam believed his father blamed him for his mother’s death, and John felt guilty that he couldn’t give Sam a better life. The lack of communication between the Winchesters astounded Castiel.  
Castiel checked the clock again. He had been here for some time. He wasn’t even sure the two hunters were even aware of his presence. He decided to check on Sam. He had grown to like and accept the boy, even though he was an abomination. Sam wanted so much to fight his own destiny and save people, and Castiel watched him try and try again and again. Castiel had learned much from this human, about perseverance (though misguided sometimes), compassion, and forgiveness. He believed, with help, Sam could survive his demon blood addiction and join his father in saving the world. As the oldest Winchester brother, he had taken on a roll of responsibility. He was his father’s caretaker when they were on the road, and when he moved in with the Mulligans, he took Adam under his wing and was there for him. When his father would leave to go on the road with Bobby for a case, he would always pull Sam to the side and tell him to take care of his little brother. Sam would smile broadly, proud to be given such a huge responsibility. Castiel had kept a close eye on the Mulligans since the start of the apocalypse, and personally warded their house to keep them safe. Presently, this was where Sam had chosen to take respite, and he was pleased that Cas had come for a visit. “Hey Castiel,” Sam grinned, “come on in. Want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.” Sam leaned over to scrape across the angel warding under the welcome mat so Castiel could come in. “Hello, Sam,” Castiel intoned in his usual manner, “and yes, I would very much enjoy a cup of coffee.” They moved to the kitchen. It was warm and cheerful, decorated in yellows and reds, and the sun filtered through the window making it bright and clean. Castiel enjoyed this space. It was such a contrast to the gloomy study at Bobby Singer’s. “How are you feeling, Sam?” queried the angel. “Actually not bad,” Sam replied, “The withdrawal symptoms seemed to have let up and the cravings are like a dull ache in the background.” Castiel took a sip of his coffee. It was very strong, just the way he liked it. He stared at the mug, frowning. He remembered the first time he tasted coffee, it actually wasn’t long ago. There was something familiar about the drink, and he took to it immediately, drinking it black. He looked up- Sam had been talking about Adam and how well he had been doing in school- and caught Sam’s eyes. They were a lovely hazel, a combination of golds and greens. Castiel squinted, because that wasn’t right. They should be green, right? Sam blinked and Castiel looked away, wondering where the notion had come from. “You ok, Castiel?” Sam asked. Castiel didn’t look up. That wasn’t right either. It should be Cas. Someone had given him that nickname, and even Sam called him that. Something was wrong. He stood quickly, the room feeling suddenly too hot. “It was good to see you, Sam. I am glad you are well. Please fix the warding when I leave.” Before Sam had a chance to answer, Castiel flew off in a flurry of feathers.  
He found himself in the small town of Watersville, Maine. He landed in front of the local police station where he, John, and Bobby had spoken with local authorities about some strange occurrences which might lead them to Raphael. He remembered getting a pep talk from Bobby to keep his “idgit mouth shut,” and John leading the way, dressed like a Federal agent. This was only a week ago. Castiel felt a shiver run through his grace. He stood facing away from the door of the station. _He stood right here and straightened Cas’ tie, and Cas asked why they would need to lie. The green eyes stared back into his and said, “that’s how you become president.”_ Cas shook his head. That didn’t happen. He was here with Bobby and John. He spread his wings to fly back to South Dakota, and he paused and changed his direction. He landed outside a broken-down abandoned house, the one he and John had trapped Raphael in with a ring of holy oil. They had seen the vessel at the hospital and lured him back to the house. It took several hours, and John amused himself by trying to teach Castiel poker. John had guffawed at Castiel’s perfect poker face, and sighed when he realized Castiel had been counting cards. After some arguing on whether or not it was cheating if Castiel didn’t know the rules, they settled on playing Go Fish which Castiel really enjoyed. The angel entered the dilapidated house, surveying the damage the storm and the archangel had caused. The whole front of the house was gone. He slowly walked through the door with a new memory. _The green-eyed man (Dean?) had asked him if he was a virgin, and said something about Bert and Ernie being gay, then set himself on the task of getting Cas laid. Cas had looked up into his eyes in surprise, thinking Dean was finally going to acknowledge the sexual tension between the two of them. But to his disappointment, they left the house to go to a brothel, the last place the angel wanted to be with Dean._ Castiel put his hands on either side of his face, pressing on his temples. There was a sharp pain radiating through his head. He had not felt this sensation before, but after some assessment, it appeared to be like the way the hunters would wake up after a night of imbibing liquor. He felt like his head was tearing into two pieces. Part of him knew the memories he was having were real, another part insisted they were false. Something was wrong. He shook his head in anguish, and gritted his teeth, waiting for it to pass. Eventually, the pain subsided, and he breathed out deeply. Something must be wrong with this new vessel, and he needed information. He stretched his wings once more and took flight. It was huge risk, but he needed answers, and he could think of only one person who might know what happened. Castiel landed in the living area in the dusty house of the prophet Chuck. He looked around for the writer, but he was not in the immediate vicinity. Castiel took a seat in the broken lumpy armchair and waited. Several minutes had passed when he heard a noise. Chuck was thumping down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Castiel waited until he had reached the bottom to announce himself. “Hello, Chuck.” Chuck screamed in a high voice, clutching his shirt front. When he saw who it was, he rushed in, and sat on the sofa across from the angel. “Castiel! Man am I glad to see you. I had seen where you were back somehow, but I was unclear on the details. How’re the Winchesters? Everything okay with them?” Chuck babbled out, tightening his robe around himself. “Yes, Chuck, they are well.” Castiel paused, trying to decide how to ask for the information he needed. He opened his mouth, and Chuck interrupted, “You’re having a problem with your memory, aren’t you.” Castiel’s eyes widened. “Yes. Could you tell me anything about it?” he asked, “Maybe it’s the new vessel, but I seem to be experiencing some...odd symptoms.” Castiel looked at Chuck imploringly. “Yeah, man, I thought so,” said the prophet warily. “Is it like...you have a memory of something...then...like you remember it happening a different way too, like the same but with...other people?” Castiel nodded his head furiously. “Yes! What’s the cause of this?” Chuck sighed and put his head down in defeat. “I wish I could tell you man. I’ve been writing, right? And like, out of nowhere I’ll be hit with a flash of something that doesn’t line up. It’s like a whole other plot, but not like a b plot. It doesn’t co-exist with the storyline. In fact,” he said looking up from his lap, “It completely conflicts with it.” Cas was silent for a moment. He waited for Chuck to go on, but the writer kept staring out in the distance, watching something Castiel couldn’t see. Castiel cleared his throat. Chuck’s head snapped back to look at the angel, “Yeah sorry, sometimes it can get a little intense.” Castiel stood up from his chair awkwardly. “I don’t suppose you have any of this written down, do you?” he asked hesitantly, “something I could look at, to try and remember.” Chuck stood quickly, wincing as his back popped. “I have some notes, but I’m not sure what they mean.” He walked over to his desk where his computer lay, where the Winchester Gospels were being recorded, and opened a drawer with a loud scrape of wood. He pulled out a stack of wrinkled papers, some scratched on with pen, some stained with whiskey, and riffled through them. “I mostly just jot down a few notes, like I said, it’s not much.” He looked sheepish and handed Castiel the stack of papers. Castiel accepted them almost reverently, and delicately walked over to set them on the kitchen counter. He looked at the first one. All it said was _Dean sticks a spoon in Sam’s mouth and takes a picture._ He set it to the side and looked up at Chuck who had joined him in the kitchen. “Dean? You know his name is Dean?” He asked, stunned. Chuck only nodded his head and bit his lip nervously. His hand reached out blindly to the counter on his right side and located a half-full bottle of dark liquor. He fumbled a glass and poured, hardly taking his eyes off Castiel as he read. The angel had turned his attention back to the notes. _Dean and Sam kill Samhain and Dean sees Sam use his demon powers._ Castiel’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “But that was John there,” he mumbled out, “I was there but-” Green eyes flashed in his mind and a low chuckle, tanned skin- Castiel gasped and gripped his brow trying to squeeze the pain that was forming there. Chuck had a tumbler of whisky at the ready and handed it to him when he looked up. “I know man,” Chuck sympathized, “hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” Castiel tossed back the drink, and Chuck poured another. “How,” growled out Castiel, voice graveled even deeper by the drink, “How can you live with this? It’s terribly uncomfortable.” Chuck snorted, “Clearly I drink. And sex. Sex helps.” Castiel straightened up and raised an eyebrow at Chuck, “I’m not saying I’m not flattered to be propositioned by a Prophet of the Lord, but I’m not interested-” Chuck was waving his hands and trying not to choke on the sip he’d just taken. “Oh no no no I didn’t mean..what I meant was, call girls. You know, for sex.” Chuck looked into his cup, embarrassed suddenly. Castiel assumed it was because he had just admitted to participating in prostitution to an Angel of the Lord. “It’s okay Chuck, I understand. Dean took me to this place of ill repute where this woman…” he trailed off, not knowing how the sentence ended. _Dean is there/Dean is not there_ He looked back at the prophet who just smiled sadly and shook his head. “You’re more than welcome to look through the rest of those, but I really don’t know anything else.” Castiel nodded numbly. He was about to hand off the pile to Chuck when a couple of words caught his eye. _I am not a hammer/I have my doubts, Dean._ The two phrases were haphazardly scrawled on a corner of a napkin, and Castiel stared at them. He knew those were his words. He could still feel the autumn breeze as he sat and watched children play on the playground. He had said those words, but to whom? Green eyes stood out, and his heart lurched. That was when he knew- Castiel stopped. Knew what? He turned grimly to Chuck. “Yes,” the prophet said, “you can keep that one.” Castiel nodded and took off to Bobby’s again. 

 

********

 

Dean walked until the rain came, using the tan trench coat to cover his pack and head. In a few short minutes, he couldn’t see ten feet in front of him- he needed to find shelter quickly. He started running down the road; it was sloping down the mountain now, and looked for a driveway entrance. Within the five minutes it took, he was soaked through and shivering. He came to a mailbox and an overgrown gravel driveway that looked promising. He rooted around for his silver knife, but couldn’t come up with it, but he got his hands on a long ceremonial dagger, presumably taken from the witches. Dean held it up to inspect it as he ran down the long driveway. It was nothing special, but it was sharp enough to stab a croat if needed. He looked back up as he trotted along, and staggered as another flash hit him. _Cas toting a basket and picking up ingredients, sniffing and prodding, and smiling when he found something he liked/Dean gathering up as much as he could shove in a bag._ He stopped on the drive and dropped the knife, holding his head and waiting out the wave of nausea. His stomach roiled as his brain tried to reconcile the memory of _Cas there/Cas not there._ It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t be having a memory that included Cas at all, the last time he saw the ex-angel was in the car on the way to Detroit. _(But I guess that’s just how I roll)_ A bitter broken man, “generally” high as he put it. But he could see his face looking up at him, eyes blue and bright, not clouded by a haze of narcotics. Dean realized he had fallen on his knees in the mud, and the shivering was worse. Ignoring the pain in his head, he grabbed the knife again and stood up. He could just make out the house at the end of the drive, a slumping yellow one-story, just on this side of falling apart. He thought his chances were good that he would be alone, it looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in some time. He approached cautiously anyway, checking through the windows on the porch,and moving slowly, mindful of the boards being rotten. He couldn’t see any movement inside, and it looked dry. As if on cue, the rain came to a near stop, reducing to a light drizzle. The sun was still hiding, but Dean was grateful for the reprieve to be able to look for some dry wood. He slowly sidestepped around the porch to the side kitchen door. Still no movement, so he felt confident to go in a do a room-by-room search. After he had dripped on the floor in every room, he settled in the living room, eyeing the musty hulk of a couch. The mice had probably taken up residence, but Dean didn’t mind sharing his bed. He snorted at that thought. It had actually been a pretty long time since he had shared his bed with anyone; the last town he came to with inhabitants was full of religious nuts so it was slim pickin’s. There was no whisky, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to bed sober with any of the women there. The good-looking ones were already off the market (with really average guys, so good for them), and most of the other ones seemed to be looking for a husband or were allergic to baths. So it had been him and his hand for a while, which he didn’t mind- he had learned to get really creative with jerking off, so he got by just fine. Except that didn’t feel completely true. It seemed like there was something missing. He brushed off the thought and surveyed the fireplace. He struck gold- there was kindling and plenty of larger pieces stacked next to the hearth. He figured the wood was going to be really dry and burn too quickly, so he made a mental note to go gather some from outside and set it on the hearth to dry. He checked the flue and got a small fire blazing in minutes. He grabbed the end of the couch and dragged it closer to the fireplace and pushed his wet boots off with his toes. Stripping off his soaked clothes took some effort, and he hung them on various furniture and the mantle. He rooted around in the coat closet and came up with an afghan that didn’t smell too musty. He stripped his underwear off last and flopped them over a lampshade. Fully nude, he wrapped himself in the blanket and huddled by the fire until he was thoroughly warm. He stood up and sighed. He had to piss, and the bathroom in the place wasn’t very appealing. It was covered in something that could very well be black mold, and Dean wasn’t going to risk it- getting this far in his quest only to be defeated by a fungus would be fucked up, even for him. He chortled at that thought and walked to the door, wrapping the afghan around him and stepped onto the porch. The sun had gone down, and the air was humid and warm. His feet slapped the boards of the porch and he was hit with a sense of deja’ vous. He looked around as if someone would be waiting out there for him. He dismissed the odd notion and peed off the porch, stretching his back out as he did. Once he was done, he headed back in, deadbolting the door as he went. Dean flopped down on the couch, causing a puff of dust. He laid back, his head resting on a mildew-smelling pillow. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.  
_Dean sat at the end of a peer, fishing pole in the water, relaxing. He breathed in the lake air, smiling as he exhaled. He looked over his shoulder, but the dock was empty. He frowned. This was the one where Cas showed up in, right? He twisted his body around completely, looking for a flash of the blue tie and trench coat, but he was alone. He turned his attention back to fishing, but couldn’t help the feeling of disquiet that had settled over him. The dream shifted, became hazy. He felt hands on him, stroking down his sides. Dean gasped as one of the hands wandered over to his nipple and the thumb brushed over it, causing it to peak. The scene shifted, a mouth hot on his neck, sucking, marking him. He sighed in his sleep, contented. The scene shifted again, this time his legs pulled practically up to his chin, a thick hard cock pounding into his ass, and his own cock hard and leaking on his stomach. He looked up into bright smoldering blue eyes, gasping to see who was handling him so roughly. Cas was leaning over him, sweat dripping down his brow, biting his lower lip in concentration. His eyes fluttered closed and Dean felt him start to lock, about to come inside of Dean…_ Dean woke with a jolt. His heart was pounding. Since when has he been having dirty (and really hot) dreams about Cas? He closed his eyes in concentration, trying to conjure up the image again. There it was again, but this time, his legs were around Cas’ waist and he was thrusting back on Cas, their bodies meeting with a slap over and over. Dean’s eyes flew open, his hand automatically going down to grip his erection through the blanket. He was impossibly hard over the image of the angel fucking him hard into the ground, silhouetted by the campfire light. He threw back the afghan and ran his hand over the head of his cock, spreading pre-come over the shaft, lubing it and allowing his hand to slide fast and furiously. He was gasping and panting already, well aware that he might come in seconds. He closed his eyes again. Something was missing, he needed more. He sucked his fingers quickly and pressed two against his hole. He let out loud groan out as the slid in easily, making him wonder why he was so loose already. He jacked himself, twisting around the head occasionally, and began to thrust into himself erratically. He looked down at his cock, turned on even more by the sight and wished silently for a mirror so he could see his own fingers plunging in and out of his asshole. He moaned long and low, feeling his balls draw up, and shut his eyes and tried to visualize Cas’ hands on him and in him, gripping just a little harder. He felt he was on the edge, but didn’t want the feeling to end. His eyes fluttered open and shut, trying to capture a scene from his dream, something where he was helpless, cock out- Dean flashed on the most vivid dream yet, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, laying back against a log, finger fucking himself, spread open with three fingers, jamming them in and out, hand on his cock and groaning Dean’s name. With a loud shout and arch of his back, Dean swept across his prostate, causing him to come, his hole gripping him hard around his fingers enough to crack a knuckle, then pulsing in time with the hot come shooting onto his chest.  
He rode out his orgasm, not wanting the image to disappear from his mind. Cas fucking him, Cas fucking himself yelling Dean’s name, Dean taking Cas’ cock deep into his throat- Dean jolted sitting up, pulling his fingers out as he went. He hadn’t dreamed about deep throating Cas, that was a new image to pop up. He closed his eyes and could almost taste it, hot and heavy, sliding in and out of his lips, hitting the back of his throat, causing the angel to emit filthy moans. Dean shook his head trying to clear it. The Cas in his mind looked similar to 2014 Cas, but he didn’t look high, and he looked at Dean reverently, the way he did when they first met in the barn. Something was definitely off. Dean hesitantly looked in his mind for the door of Shit I Fucked Up. The door seemed to be gone, and most of the mess scattered and broken. He could still feel the mountain of guilt, but it was sort on nonspecific now. Rooting through the fragments of memory, he tried to find anything that lined up with this last image, but there was nothing. He looked around for the other dream images, the hot sex and masturbation, but it began to fade, and he could no longer visualize the door. He fought his mind withdrawing from the door, and grasped at whatever he could get his hands on. A fragment of a dream, the same dream he had last night, came into focus. But this time Cas was there, and he was sitting, not standing, on the dock next to him. That wasn’t the correct memory- Cas had stood and given him an address, right before he was forced out of Jimmy’s vessel and dragged back to Heaven for reprogramming. But it felt true. But when was that? Dean grunted in frustration and stood, looking around for something to clean up the mess. He went to the kitchen and tried the tap, hoping that the water was still running. No luck. He rooted around for a towel or something, but the moisture in the kitchen made them smell of mildew and it was pretty overpowering. He wasn’t inclined to rub it on his body and then smell like it for two days afterward. Dean walked back to the living room, flicking the dried come off his stomach as he went. It was sticky in some spots, but it was starting to pull his chest hairs where it dried. He went to his pack and searched through it, glad he thought to get a waterproof pack. His hand gripped something soft. He pulled it out and stared at it dumbfounded. It was a dirty and very wrinkled tie, the exact color of blue he just dreamed of staring down at him. He held it gently, running his fingers over it, forgetting momentarily about the come on his chest. It appeared to have been washed recently, which was odd because why did he even have it? His mind tried desperately to reconcile the conflict of memory, _(Cas is there/Cas is not there._ His head began to hurt, so he sat back down and used the blanket to absently scrub at his chest and belly. He continued to stare at the tie. It was possible he ended up with it somehow two years ago and just didn’t notice? Or the witches had it and he accidentally pocketed it? None of it seemed right, and he was worried for the first time in a long time. He had been through so much for so long, chasing Zachariah, and now he was going to be brought down by a little memory confusion. He breathed deeply and did what he did best. Ignored it. So what if he was having sex dreams about Cas, with that hair already looking like he just rolled out of bed after getting fucked? Who could blame him? The guy was friggin’ hot. Those plump chapped lips, those blue eyes- it’s a wonder no one had locked that down yet. Dean wondered about angels having sex with each other and shuddered. Not pleasant to picture any of those flying assholes getting off work from going around being complete dicks, and then fucking each other raw in some back alley somewhere. Dean felt better, having derailed himself from getting hard again thinking about Cas. He checked to see how damp his clothes were and added another log to the fire. He would get a short nap in and then figure out his next move.

_********_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave me a comment and let me know your opinion :) Also Ima slut for kudos, so hook me up plz


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short, my in-laws are here, and I have to endure the anxiety of that. I'll post more as soon as I can.

Sam knew something was wrong. He had been noticing for some time that something was off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He felt like everything was all wrong. His home, his job, Jess didn’t seem like herself, and the children soon looked unfamiliar and strange. He even felt like the house and the furniture were falling apart. It was a fairly new house, but it seemed every time he turned around, plumbing would break, light fixtures would fail, and even the floor had rot in some places. He had spent several weeks fixing things, going to the hardware store almost daily. The weirdest thing of all was that Jess didn’t seem to notice the problems or his effort to fix them. He would ask her about the sink- it was dripping badly- and she said it was perfectly fine and would go about her day. He thought this strange, but it got even worse when she seemed to not be able to see where the paint in the living room had cracked, all the way to the plaster. He would be brushed off and left confused. Sam decided to do an experiment. He stopped all repairs, and stopped even mentioning them. He walked around as if everything was fine and waited to see what Jess would do. There was absolutely no reaction from Jess or the girls. The house became shockingly brittle in a matter of days, and Sam started to wonder if there was a supernatural being responsible for it. He kept that thought to himself and kept up pretenses.   
Dean was supposed to come the next day; he had called to say he would be driving in sometime after Sam got off work. He seemed really excited to see the family. Sam got a sinking feeling and feigned his excitement.   
Sam went to work as usual, sitting behind the desk at the non-profit environmental law firm. He was only a few years away, in his humble estimation, from making partner. He was happy in his position and felt good helping save the planet. It was like he could continue helping people without hunting monsters and demons. And he was fine with that. Sure. It was great. Sam blinked and looked down at the stack of work on his desk for the day and decided he needed one more cup of coffee before he got started. He didn’t want to overwork himself today, he knew once Dean got into town he would want to resolve the case right away so he could spend quality time with his nieces. Sam grinned as he poured his cup, thinking about hunting. It surely had been a while, but he worked out every day and was still in great shape. Maybe Dean would let him go with him this evening. The thought made him almost giddy with excitement, which was out of the ordinary for Sam. He had been so content last week to stay in on weekends and fall asleep with Jess on the couch after watching another episode of Walking Dead on Netflix. But suddenly the excitement of hunting a murderous (often disgusting), potentially lethal monster really seemed appealing. He was standing, stirring his coffee and looking fondly off into the distance thinking about the time Dean came and got him for a weekend from school to hunt a werewolf? Vampire? Sam shook his head at his fuzzy memory, but it _was_ long ago after all. He snapped back when a hand touched his shoulder, causing him to slosh his coffee a little. “Oh,” said his co-worker Brad, “sorry, just trying to get your attention.” “No problem,” said Sam with a small smile, as he blotted coffee from his tie. “What’s up, Brad?” Brad leaned on the coffee station and crossed his arms in a relaxed pose. “Have you taken a look at the Sandover case? I think they might have a loophole to get out of the lawsuit,” he said. Sam looked up at Brad in dismay. “Man, that’s not good, they contributed to one of the biggest environmental catastrophes in recorded US history!” Brad continued to stay in place, not reacting to Sam’s words. “Have you taken a look at the Sandover case?” Brad said again, “I think they might have a loophole to get out of the lawsuit.” Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he shifted his weight to the right. “Yeah, you might have just mentioned that,” he said uncertainly, “like just right now?” Brad said nothing but continued to lean on the coffee station. He was looking at the spot Sam had just been standing in, posed to speak again. “Well...anyway,” Sam said, clearing his throat, “I’m going to get back to it, since you seem to be stuck in the Matrix,” Sam shook his head as he walked off toward his office. That _did_ seem like Brad had glitched, which made Sam’s stomach do backflips. Getting back to his office and sitting down again, Sam looked around his office. _Really ___looked around his office. He suddenly started seeing things he hadn’t noticed when he came in that morning. The overhead light had a slight flicker and intermittent buzz. The wallpaper by the door seemed to be peeling and the carpet was a lot dirtier than it should be. _Either the cleaning staff is really getting sloppy, or this thing has followed me to work,_ he thought, _maybe I ought to call Dean now._ He got out his cell and squinted at the screen. It had a long jagged crack in it running from the top left corner to the bottom right. He didn’t remember dropping it, but maybe his keys were in his pocket and broke it. Sam knew that couldn’t possibly have happened, he had been keeping his keys in his suit jacket pocket for three years now. He started feeling nauseated. Perhaps it wasn’t a monster. Maybe it was him. He was the common denominator so far. He stood and grabbed his satchel, deciding to take an early lunch. He walked swiftly down the hall, past Brad who was still standing looking in the spot Sam had been standing in. Sam walked faster.  
When he got to the street, he walked about half a block, ducking into his favorite coffee and sandwich shop. It was morning business as usual, but the light was all wrong. It had a gray tint to it, and seemed stale. The patrons were vacant-eyed and seemed disheveled. The faux brick walls were crumbling and the floor cracked. The coffee smelled burnt. He figured that if this place had the same disintegration, that it _was_ him, and he needed to get somewhere quickly and get a call out to Dean somehow. Or get to the library and research possibilities. He decided to do both at once.   
Sam ran up the stairs in front of the city library. He nodded to the librarian, who basically ignored him. He went to the stairs and descended a floor and walked to the back. The section that held the lore was secluded in the back, poorly lit with a single table. There was a phone mounted to the wall for internal calls, but Sam was pretty sure 9 would allow him to dial out. Hopefully the librarian upstairs wouldn’t notice the line being used. He decided to hit the books first and then call Dean once he had something to go on. It was possible this was a djinn dream, which would render his call to Dean unnecessary. However, Sam couldn’t recall hearing of a djinn who allowed their dream to fall apart this way. He had continued researching for Dean (and even his Dad when Bobby was out of town) and had a pretty extensive library at home, but he didn’t trust his house right now. He also had suspicions that his laptop wouldn’t be working or broken completely. Sam browsed the section of Arabic legends and customs, and anything that had to do with genies. He pulled several books from the shelves and went back for a few more. He spied out of the corner of his eye the Christian studies section and stepped over there, thinking it couldn’t hurt to look up some demon lore. There was a large hard-bound book titled _Angel Encyclopedia, A-R,_ Author Unknown. He pulled the book down, which was heavier than he expected, and hauled it over to the table and cleared a space for it. He studied the cover, which was a glossy rendering of _Saint Michel terrassant le Dragon,_ by 15th century Flemish painter Josse Lieferinxe. He ran his fingers over the cover lightly, feeling some sort of familiarity. Michael vs. the dragon, in which the dragon was a representation of the fallen angel Lucifer. He had studied this in Art History at Stamford, which he took as an elective because it seemed like it would be interesting. Sam loved the material even though the professor did his best to make it dull and induce sleeping in his class with his droning monotonous voice. Sam opened the book, leafing slowly through the pages. He had always believed in angels, and wondered why no one had heard of any sightings of them recently. “Recently” being several decades. There was mountains of lore about them, but he rarely had the opportunity to study them because they never had to do with a case. Well, Dean’s cases.   
He flipped pages until he came to M, and opened the page on Michael. It had the usual info anyone could learn from Bible school, but it went on to describe Michael’s part in the upcoming apocalypse. Sam held his place and flipped back to the title page looking for a publishing date. It was listed as copyright 1932, but the name of the publishing company was missing. Sam frowned and opened back to the page he was on. All sorts of people, nutjobs, and religious figures had been predicting the end of days as happening in their era for centuries. He looked back down at Michael’s page again. It described a vessel, known as the Sword of Michael, that would be the Righteous Man, a man sent to Hell who would take up the knife and start to torture souls before being rescued and given revelation about his role in the apocalypse. Sam’s eyes narrowed. He remembered hearing about this. But he couldn’t remember in what context, or if it had ever been mentioned in his class at Stanford. It went on to say that the battle for Earth would rage and Michel would face his brother, the Morning Star, also known as Lucifer, and they would scorch the earth in an epic battle which would bring Paradise or Hell on Earth, depending on the outcome. It also said that most of the human population would be destroyed in the process. Sam felt like he was on to something, completely forgetting about the djinn lore in the process. He flipped back a letter to read up on Lucifer’s description, and hit paydirt. It described the usual: loved God too much, refused to love humans, cast into Hell. The part about the apocalypse was basically the same as the description on Michael’s page. Sam skimmed the reading until he got to the part about the vessel. It spoke of a vessel being tainted with demon blood at birth and having special powers when they came of age. _Except that isn’t quite correct, it was six months and 22 years,_ Sam thought. He continued to read about the ex-Archangel taking a vessel only with permission, and the vessel could reject him if needed. Sam froze. This was all too familiar. He wished to call Dean right away, but needed more to go on. He grabbed the nearest djinn book and flipped it open. It was blank. On every page. He stared at it as if words would suddenly appear, then threw it back down on the table. He grabbed the next, and it was blank as well. Soon he was opening every book he could get his hands on, only to find it blank and throw it on the floor. He went through the pile quickly, and was left panting, his chest heaving, and his heart thudding in his ears. He reached for books still on the shelf, whatever was closest, and looked in them as well. Sam got the feeling that if he opened any book in the library, it too would be empty. He sat slowly, pulling the large, heavy Angel book back to his chest. It felt like the realest, most tangible thing that he had held in weeks. He touched the page on Lucifer and started to put pieces together. If he originally thought he was in a djinn dream, it stood to reason that he might be trapped in his head right now. In some sort of illusion. But who created it? He supposed he could have, but he doubted he would include blank lore books; he already had a pretty vast knowledge on djinns and could fill those books easily with his mind. This thought made him look down at the book in his arms. If he wasn’t the one who created the illusion, why would a book of angel lore be included in his dream? It had to be a message of some kind. He took a look around the library room once again, noticing the walls becoming fuzzy and distorted. This was a very familiar feeling. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He could see a man, sandy blond hair and narrow face, a cocky smirk on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes (Nick?). Sam opened his eyes, expecting to see Lucifer walk through the door to start fixing things. How could have he forgotten? He was in his mind, and so was Lucifer, except that wasn’t quite right. Lucifer was in his _body._ Sam looked down at the book in his hands and gripped it tighter. He clearly remembered all the times Lucifer had to come in and restored the slipping facade of an illusion of a life created to keep Sam docile and compliant. He sat very quietly. The room around him was disintegrating, but the book stayed solid. He closed it and wrapped his arms around it. He got up slowly, holding the book and stepping over the melting piles of lore books. He disregarded his satchel, it was probably melted like the rest of the room, anyway. Sam made his way up the failing stairs and slipped quietly by the librarian’s desk. The man who had been there earlier was gone, and Sam headed outside. He had a very _Truman Show_ feeling, as if he was being watched from every direction. The streets were deserted, and Sam knew that he was probably alone in his head now. He had to get somewhere safe and figure out what to do. Correction: he had to _create_ somewhere safe, hunker down and hide until he could work out what to do. The book might have further information, so held onto it as if would melt away like everything else. Sam closed his eyes and pictured a building. A one-story building with a neon sign flickering outside. He realized he was creating a motel and cringed thinking about this being the safest place he could think of. He opened his eyes and saw the motel, complete with ice and vending machines. The half-lit sign declared it _the Sleep Eazy Motel,_ but with half the letters out it said _the Slee zy Motel,_ and he snorted at the appropriate nomenclature. He took off in a run and to the motel office. It was so real in contrast to what was happening outside that Sam sighed in relief. There was no attendant, and Sam was glad he didn’t create one on his own; he wasn’t sure his credit card would work here. He giggled at the thought, and the sound was loud and high pitched and it surprised in the silence. He looked over to the right and a radio appeared, and a tinny song came out, making the silence easier to bear. _Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let fifty cent…_ Sam smiled at his mind’s choice of song, he always associated Roger Miller with his dad being in a good mood in the car, singing along and tapping on the Impala’s steering wheel. Dean would join in, louder and off key, grinning hard at Sam who just rolled his eyes and grinned back. Sam grabbed some keys at random, #42, and headed back outside. He wasn’t sure there were enough rooms for there to even be a 42, but walking by the doors, Angel book still under his arm, he found it quickly. _Maybe I can get some answers,_ he thought, and then shook his head and laughed, opening the door. _The answer to every question in the entire universe was 42._ Sam was pretty proud his subconscious came up with that connection. He shut the door and surveyed the room. It was the typical motel room, two beds, a kitchenette with coffee maker, and a table with two chairs. The bathroom was off to the left. Sam set the book carefully on the table and wondered how safe he was in here from Lucifer. He closed his eyes and pushed until he felt he was relocated into the furthest reaches of his subconscious. He would be safe for a while, he just had to keep an eye out for the disintegration. He wondered if he could create a Dean. It would be a construct of all he knew of his brother, and therefore not the real Dean, but he had been interacting with manufactured Dean all along, and if he was to be honest, it was the only time he felt normal. He felt lonely for his brother, and besides, he worked better when he could bounce ideas off of him. Even if it was really Sam. Talking to himself basically, and wasn’t that about right; he was crazy already. He smirked to himself and concentrated on the door. It opened and Dean walked in, carrying a tray of fancy coffee and smiling broadly. Sam grinned back and offered Dean a seat.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is coming apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people who are not fans of John Winchester, and I get it (I'm actually writing an au with A+ parenting as we speak), but I did his pov here. I was actually surprised the direction it went in. He makes a sexist remark, but I was looking at him in generational context- he's the age of my dad. And with all my daddy issues, I try to appreciate that he tried his best, even though it didn't line up with what would be considered a "good father."   
> Enough heavy stuff, enjoy the show!
> 
> LOL also the boys can't seem to keep their hands out of their own pants when they're apart. Naughty.

Castiel sat on the dusty sagging sofa of Bobby’s library. He held his brow in one hand, the other hanging down between his knees. His eyes were closed, and every time he opened them, they darted anxiously around the room. Bobby sat on the edge of his desk holding the bill of his hat and scratching the top of his head with one hand. John was in the desk chair with a tumbler of whiskey in front of him, leaning forward and eyeing the angel warily. “So,” John said, addressing the figure on the couch, “what you’re saying is that this is an alternate timeline that shouldn’t exist because it was manipulated by an angel in the year 2016?” Castiel nodded slowly, eyes closed. John continued, “Also I have a son, born before Sam, and I actually let him drive my car?” John looked at Bobby and winked. Bobby rolled his eyes and turned back to Castiel. “Look,”Bobby said, ignoring John for the millionth time that day, “if what you say is true, is it possible that this Dean fella would have a better chance at kicking the apocalypse in the keister?” John gave him a Look, which meant _don’t encourage him,_ but after a moment, waved him to go on. “I mean, me and John here are running out of ideas and we’ll take anything you got.” John stood, knocking back the rest of his drink. He looked past Bobby at Castiel, then back to Bobby. “We’ll think of something, Bobby, don’t give up on me now,” he said, “I’m sure Cas here is just confused.” At the nickname, Castiel’s head shot up, “You don’t call me that. Why did you call me that?” He looked even more distressed as John just blinked at him. “Yeah,” the hunter said, drawing out the word, “I’m going to get another drink, anyone want…” he trailed off, looking at Castiel on the couch, hands over his eyes, and Bobby staring intently in the distance. John shrugged his shoulders, and went into the kitchen to hunt for the bottle he knew Bobby had stashed somewhere under the sink. Or behind the stove. Or in the vegetable crisper? The apocalypse was sure depleting their booze supply, and after a few minutes searching, he still came up with nothing. He leaned back into the study and caught Bobby’s attention, letting him know that he was going to make a liquor store run. Bobby and Castiel had not changed position, but Bobby looked over when he spoke. “You okay to drive?” John snorted and turned to the door. “Bob,” he responded, “I really wish I wasn’t. But seeing as we gotta discuss this type of weird shit, I need to _get_ to the non-driving kind of drunk, hopefully within the hour.” Bobby rolled his eyes and John heard him mutter “idjit,” as he walked out the door. 

John kept the windows down in the Impala as he made the short trek to the liquor store. He was trying to wrap his head around the information the wayward angel had just laid on them. Castiel said that John had an older son named Dean (weird, cause the only place he could think of where they’d get that name was Mary’s mom, Dena, and right, like he’d let Mary call his first born a girl’s name), and Dean was the one who was supposed to be worn by Michael like a condom to go fuck up the world. He could get with that, shit, more weird shit had happened this year than the last twenty combined. But he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t stand by and let any son of his sacrifice himself in John’s place- well that was just fucking nuts. He would no more let this other hypothetical kid of his get possessed than he would Sam. They had worked so hard to keep Adam and his mom out of this, but he never felt they were safe enough. He loved his sons, fiercely, and even though he would never win Father of the Year, he would throw himself directly on a grenade to keep either of them from harm. He taught them proper use of firearms and weapons, hand-to-hand, and all sorts of survival techniques, and that was the best way he could show his love. He was too tough, too road wary, too used up and tired to try and open himself up emotionally. He had seen what happened to some of his buddies after being in combat too long, and once the floodgates opened, the emotion came pouring out with no end in sight. They could barely function in the real world. He had to admit he couldn’t either, but he still had this war to fight. He smirked thinking back to the days that he thought he would retire from the life once he had killed Yellow Eyes, but once a hunter always a hunter. And honestly, that’s all he knew he was good for: being on the road, hunting things, saving people. He chuckled, thinking that would look great on a t-shirt. 

Loading the case of whisky in the trunk, John pulled the Impala out of the parking lot, shaking his head at the notion that he would willingly give up his car to his kid. While he was still alive! Sam had never expressed interest in driving her, he was all about the low emission shit. He had thought about passing her on to Adam, but the boy was still too young and would probably fuck her up. The smirk dropped off his face as he considered that. If he didn’t make it through this, he would have to leave the car with someone. It was basically his only possession, that and a trunk full of hunting gear. She was more or less home to him, and had been the one consistent thing in his life since Mary died. He almost didn’t buy her, but the van he test drove crapped out before it left the parking lot. The Impala was sitting there, and he knew he could probably work on her if he needed to, so he bought her on impulse. But who would he leave her to, he mused, maybe Bobby? Sure, Bobby was his best friend and practically his brother, but they fought more than not, so they’d go months without talking, just to prove which one was the most stubborn. John was suddenly struck with a thought. If the angel was right, about the whole timeline thing, then he would have trusted this son of his with his most treasured possession. This kid, Dean, would have earned his father’s trust, and cared enough about the car that John could leave her with him to take care of. He smiled at the idea that he could have a kid that was like himself.   
John was headed up the steps at Bobby’s, booze in hand and ready to tackle this new shit storm landing in their laps.

 

********

Castiel breathed out a long exhale and laid back on the couch putting his feet up. Bobby eyed him and grumbled, “Getcher shoes off the couch, this ain’t your mama’s house.” Castiel binked and his shoes and socks neatly appeared on the floor by his feet. His feet being bare actually felt relaxing. He wiggled his toes experimentally, deciding he liked the action. He was aware that this was his first time he had taken his shoes off, but also that they had been off quite a bit when they were in the desert. Cas groaned, looking over to Bobby. “I seem to be experiencing a pull from both timelines. It’s as if Dean both exists and doesn’t exist at the same time. This shouldn’t be happening. From what I know, when a timeline is altered in some way, no one should be affected by it. It just replaces the old one, and we move on to the same inevitable conclusion.” Bobby thought about that for a second. “So,” he said finally, “the destination is always the same, but path and the travelers can be different?” “Yes,” said Cas, sitting up again to face Bobby, “But even so, the destination can still be an unknown factor, as we have proven by breaking a few prophecies already. I suspect that Lucifer is involved in this, only an archangel would have the power to manipulate time in this way.” Bobby nodded, still deep in thought. “Castiel,” He said slowly, “if there was a way to find out how this time-hole thing got started, do you think we could contact this friend of yours to help us out? I mean, not for nothing, John is a great hunter and all, but we’re old,” he shrugged and scowled. “I’d just as soon as not send him into the fray after we saw what happened to Raphael’s vessel. That guy’s brain was more burnt than my cooking.” Castiel had straightened up, looking in the distance, brows drawn together. He needed to do something soon. The two sides of his memory were tearing him apart and it was more painful than he had let on to the hunters. They had enough on their plate already. If he could find a way to summon Dean to this timeline… _Dean is real/Dean is not real_ Castel growled and put his fists in his hair. He needed a drink. As if on cue, John kicked the door open with his shoe, stumbling under the weight of the case of whisky. Bobby moved to help him and set the case on the table. John moved to get two fresh glasses from the cabinet, turned back, caught Cas’ face from the other room, and reached back to get a third. “You know what you need, Cas ole buddy ole pal?” The angel looked up at him with hollowed and red eyes. Bobby sloshed whiskey in the three glasses John held, and took one for himself. “You need to get drunk. Sloshed, three sheets to the wind, drunk as a skunk, drunker’n a bicycle, drunker’n Cooter Brown. Higher that a Georgia pine, high enough to chase ducks with a rake. Fall down, holdin’ the walls up drunk.” John smiled his most charming dimpled smile and handed the angel a tumbler. Cas accepted it gratefully, and twitched his lip in a returned smile. “Thank you,” he said, “but I have no idea what you said after ‘drunk’.” John grinned harder clinking their glasses together, “Bottoms up!” He took a swig, and watched in awe as Castiel downed the liquor in one go, and held his glass out for another. John obliged, and this exchange went on several times until the bottle was empty. John looked very impressed. He walked back to the kitchen and brought back two bottles. “Here buddy,” John said, “you take this one and me n’ Bobby’ll split th’other.” Cas took the bottle and eyed the label. He thought he should be feeling something by now. And maybe he was, he felt a little like his tongue was heavier, and stuck it out of his mouth to try and take a look at it. John giggled at him, and slouched down in the chair opposite him. Bobby was back in his desk chair, reading lore again, hopefully researching a way to merge timelines or summon someone strong enough to do it. Meanwhile it couldn’t hurt to relax his mind with imbibing copious amounts of alcohol, so Castiel popped the top off the bottle and drank directly from it. John watched with fascination as the bottle drained quickly. Castiel burped primly and set the bottle on the side table. He felt his limbs get both heavier and lighter at the same time. He decided to experiment standing up, after which he immediately sat back down. A high-pitched giggle left his lips, causing John to guffaw at him, while Bobby shook his head and muttered “idjits,” and kept reading. Castiel did his best square his shoulders and stand up. He straightened his shirt first. He noticed his tie was askew, so he fumbled with it for a moment and tightened it and slid it toward his throat. The motion was stinging- this was what Dean (not Dean) did once. But the sting was weakened by the alcohol this time so he considered it a win. He tried his best to smooth his unruly hair, brushed his sleeves off, and sat back. Wait, wasn’t he trying to do something? He looked to John for answers, but the hunter was still laughing, sagged back in his own chair. Castiel watched with vague amusement as the laughing slowed, and John’s eyes seemed to get heavier. He smacked his lips and let his empty glass slide out of his hand, landing neatly below on the carpet. John’s eyes shut and he began emitting low snores. Castiel was familiar with this process, he had sat by as John drank himself into oblivion many nights in many hotels. He never disturbed the hunter, he just watched with a detached interest, waiting for the morning so they could continue a hunt. John was companionable, and Castiel felt kinship with him, but there was not a connection like he thought there should be. It was frustrating. Cas looked down at his hands. They were the hands that pulled John (Dean) from the pit, and rebuilt him. He could see the two stories- John coming willingly and repentant, and Dean having to be dragged, not believing he deserved to be saved. Cas focused (with one eye, everything was trying to double) on his right hand. He knew it had burned a mark into the soul of the Righteous Man, but John was unscarred. The mark was important somehow. “I love him, I think,” he said out loud. “Didn’t know he was your type,” Bobby responded from his desk, not looking up from his book. Cas started, forgetting the hunter was in the room with him. Cas looked to whom Bobby was referring, and snorted with humor as a string of saliva fell from the corner of John’s sleeping mouth. “No,” Cas said, “I was not referring to John Winchester. I am in love with his son, Dean Winchester.” Bobby looked over his reading glasses at the angel. Cas felt the hunter’s scrutinizing eyes on him and wished he had said nothing. This alcohol certainly was lowering his inhibitions. “Well son,” Bobby said, face passive as ever, “I guess this means you have a bit more invested in this thing we’re trying to do.” Cas nodded, his head swimming. Finally, and slowly, he stood. After a second or two the room stopped swaying and Cas stretched his wings out. He looked at Bobby. “I’m going to go out for a while,” he said, “but I will take my cell if you need to contact me. Or pray, or whatever.” Bobby watched in amusement as Cas walked with a little stagger to the kitchen and procured another bottle. Cas straightened himself up and tried to look as dignified as possible. He turned to the door and stepped toward it. He had his hand out to turn the knob and remembered he didn’t need to do that. He paused, hand extended, and remembered… _He had lost his powers when he got there. No, they were taken away. Dean helped him with something, but he couldn’t fly for some reason._ Castiel almost fell with the weight of the memory flooding over him. _Staring up into impossibly green eyes and a bare chest with the star tattoo, pleasure tingling through his body almost overwhelming him. His legs wrapped around Dean’s torso as he was thrusted into over and over, hand clutching the handprint on Dean’s arm. His back arching as he came…_ Castiel gasped and leaned against the wall. Bobby looked up in alarm. “You okay to, um...fly?” Cas nodded numbly and flew off without another word. He wasn’t sure of his destination until he was there- the dilapidated house in Maine where he stayed with Dean/not Dean.   
Castiel walked up the path to the door, stopping to take in what was before him. The house’s exterior paint was peeling and the wood was rotted in the eaves. The front bay window was blown out with the force of the storm Raphael blew in to intimidate them. He frowned, remembering how badly he burned that particular bridge. He carefully ascended the sagging steps to the porch. To the right was a large overgrown rose bush, wild and fragrant, covering the side of the porch and halfway up the side of the house. He touched the petals on one bloom carefully and bent to smell it properly. He wished he could bring these to Dean, to scatter them on the ground and take the hunter on top of them, spreading his legs and fucking him and kissing and biting and sucking and all the fantastic ways he could get inside of and taste Dean. He felt his slacks get tighter in the front. He stroked the rose, then carefully pulled the bloom off, holding it. There were many different colors, and he stepped further on to the porch to collect a few more. He pocketed them and ran a hand down his torso to push down his erection, providing a spike of pleasure to pass through him. He squeezed lightly, causing the hardness to increase. He found this interesting, the way his body responded to the mere memory of Dean, who didn’t even exist anywhere but his mind. Castiel made his way to the living room space, which was mostly open air now, and flopped down on the couch. He could see the stars through the hole in the roof. He looked up at them and imagined Dean looking at them too, and maybe he was thinking of Cas. He took the unopened bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket and took off the lid. He lifted his head to take a long drink, causing a warmth to flood his body, making his worries more fuzzy. Now he could concentrate on Dean. What he looked like, what he felt like, how he touched Cas, how he licked into his mouth and seemed to consume every atom of him, how they held each other desperately, how they sweated together, moans and panting filling the night air. Cas felt his erection strain against his pants, and he moved his hand to unzip and release the pressure. He stroked himself slowly, not really doing anything much, just relieving the pressure, he told himself. Soon the images of being spread out before Dean flooded his mind, causing him to grip his cock harder, making him gasp. _Dean parting Cas’ long muscular legs and licking him, taking his cock into his mouth, putting his tongue everywhere that felt good. His fingers lubed and slipping into Cas’ hole, thrusting and stretching, causing more pleasure than Cas had ever felt. He had the overwhelming urge to make Dean feel this good, as good as he was feeling- he thinks he barked at Dean about needing Dean inside him- and Dean thrusted his oiled, thick and heavy cock into Cas’ prepared anus, stretching it impossibly more, spiking waves of pleasure through his body and eliciting delicious noises from Dean’s lips. His lips. Cas bit and kissed and sucked on those lips. They were parted, looking down at him, red and plump from kissing. His dark green eyes full of lust and desire-_ Cas fucked into his hand faster, harder, coming with a shout at the image of Dean’s parted lips centimeters from his own.   
He laid panting, looking at his now sticky hand. He felt simultaneously empty and full, sexually satisfied and frustrated, wanting it to have been Dean’s hand on him instead of his own. He twitched and his hand and pants were clean and zipped up. He took another swig of the bottle and rolled to his side. They had to fix this, and soon. This was torture. He hoped Dean, wherever he was, was faring better than him. Cas upended the bottle and drained it in seconds, breathing deeply and standing up. It would be probably better to pass out at Bobby’s, this place might not be safe. He spread his wings again and took off. 

Castiel woke up. As in came to. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something died in it. _This must be what the hunters call a hangover._ He felt miserable and foggy. Sitting up, he rubbed his temples, and stopped. He didn’t have to do this human stuff. What was wrong with him? He blinked and the hangover was gone, but the misery remained. He looked around at the concrete room decorated with warding sigils. He must have ended up here last night, or they had to force him in. He swiveled around to look at the door- it was open, so he must have come to the panic room willingly. He squinted at the wardings. Those were new- no they weren’t sigils and they were in his handwriting. He must have painted the walls in his drunken stupor last night, and in Enochian. The graffiti was all over the place, in small letters and big, on almost every surface. It read “Dean is real/Dean is not real” over and over. Castiel put his head in his hands. His mind was slipping. He had to do something. The angel stood, erased the writing with a sweep of his hand, and flew upstairs. The hunters were passed out, John where he saw him last, and Bobby on the couch. He stood there quietly, accepting the wait he would endure until they woke. He sighed. Fuck waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Isn't John a lot like Dean? Ugh I get so sad when I think of the chain of abandonment. Henry leaving John when he escaped Abadon, John leaving the boys when he makes the deal, Dean leaving Ben to protect him and his mother. I love their flaws as much as their perfections. They did it to keep their children from harm, but harmed them in a different. Now I must go before I start to cry on my keyboard. *sniff*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean runs into an old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you wonderful people out there in the world reading this wonky, slapped-together lil' Destiel fic. I'm in the market for beta, so if you love grammar and are down to edit, hit me up. I apologize for my editing blunders. 
> 
> I love you all! Hope you had a fantastic weekend full of cheeseburgers and pie

Dean looked up at the road sign. _Hwy 33 East to Richmond._ Under that was a brown National Park sign for Shenandoah Park and the Appalachian Trail. He put his pack down and took out the stack of road maps he had picked up in the last town he came across. After fumbling and unfolding and getting pissed off at paper, he found the highway. West of Richmond, South of DC. If he went into the cities, he ran the risk of running into croats, or even worse, back-woods religious militia-types that would shoot first ask questions later. It was possible that Lucifer was in DC- if he was running the world now, what better place to do it from? He would have access to communication with demons in other countries besides using bowls of blood. Because let’s face it. He was probably running out of available vessels for his foot soldiers, and humans were becoming sparse, so slitting throats was bad for business.  
Dean folded his map (sort of) and headed toward the park entrance. If he stuck to the Appalachian Trail, it would bring him alongside DC without exposing him to the city until necessary. The roads were too dangerous at this point, and he could use a good night sleep and decent protein. It was possible there were people, or even monsters, on the trail with the same idea, but it was worth the risk- he could always stay in the woods and track the main path and camp a mile out from it and hike back in the mornings. It sounded like a solid idea, so he walked with determination past the abandoned visitor’s center to the trailhead. It looked remarkably undisturbed, no vandalism or signs of violence. This might be the best idea he’d had so far. He walked along whistling quietly Zeppelin's _Ramble On,_ and kept eyes open and ears alert for signs of trouble. It was pretty possible if he found and monsters on the trail, they would leave him alone if he left them alone. They were becoming endangered as well. Many had made deals with Lucifer ensuring their survival, but he screwed them of course, and they were hunted out as well- body parts divided up for spell ingredients.  
The path became difficult quickly, so Dean put his head down and marched up the first mountain. _This won’t be so bad, maybe even awesome._ He breathed deeply, and started to take in the beauty around him. He hadn’t done that since… Cas? He got a flash of a waterfall, Cas lying back in the water, eyes closed, completely naked. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, stumbling slightly. The flashes were coming more often now, and he was having trouble pushing them down. It made him feel absolutely fucking crazy. Like he was imagining his angel buddy had been with him for part of the trip because his loneliness was finally driving him nuts. He giggled out loud. He thought of an old joke Sam told- Sam was terrible with jokes- _A pirate went to the psychiatrist with the ship’s steering wheel shoved down the front of his pants. The doctor asked, “What is that?” The pirate said, “I don’t know, but it’s driving me nuts.”_  
He was definitely losing it. Creating memories with Cas in them (but they were real/not real), and giggling out loud by himself. He cleared his throat and started walking again.  
By midday, he was panting and exhausted. Who knew climbing ridiculously high mountains would be hard? He stopped and pulled out one of the plastic water bottles he had picked up in town. After his breathing slowed, he decided to go ahead and find a good spot to set up camp. So far he hadn’t met anyone on the trail, but it was possible that someone or something would show up when it got dark. He had been walking since dawn and the last few day he had been camping out in empty cars and surviving on scavenged canned food. He was ready for a fire and real cooked food.  
He checked both sides of the trail and settled on the East side. That way darkness would come quicker on that side of the mountain, but the sun would wake him up early. He timed himself and walked 30 minutes into the woods down a ravine and back up to a small rise, and found a clear spot facing east that was mostly level. He cleared the ground a little and gathered wood. He would keep his fire pretty small, he didn’t want to attract attention out there. In the desert it was so much easier. You could see for miles, and could know if anything was trying to sneak up on you. Out here there were many places to hide and Dean hoped he was far enough off the beaten path to be left alone. He could really use the rest.  
After a quick hunt, and scoring a guinea hen, he had the fire hot enough and the bird dressed and skewered. The smell was ridiculous, his mouth watered at the prospect of having something so close to chicken on his plate. There was even enough for the two of them- (Cas there/not there). Dean held his breath, trying to keep the panic at bay- steeling himself for another headache. Nothing so far. He relaxed and put his mind back on the bird in front of him. _It’s like with alcoholics,_ he told himself, _just take it one day at a time. Cas isn’t here, just try not to think about it, it will get better...or worse…_ Dean ran his hand over his face. He was going to look for water in the morning. That would keep him busy. He ate his supper quickly, wrapping up leftovers for breakfast and putting them in plastic. He threw the bird carcass far outside his camp so he wouldn’t attract bears.  
The coals were glowing softly and Dean’s eyes were heavy. He had the Colt under his bedroll as usual, a circle of salt around his bedding, and the plastic bottle of salt setting by his hand. Brass knuckles made of iron were already around his fingers, and he had made a devil’s trap in the dirt of the forest floor behind his back. That was about as safe as he could get. He prayed for no sex dreams about Cas, it was starting to be painful when he woke up. Jerking off just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He needed real(not real) skin under his fingertips and his chest ached thinking about it. He drifted off and slept without incident for a few hours.  
Somewhere before dawn, Dean began to dream. Funny thing was, when he looked around he knew it was a dream, and he could control small things about it. The sky was cloudy, so he turned up the color until it radiated a deep cerulean blue. The trees were bare and he gave them brilliant green foliage. A dark lake spread out before him, and he smiled as a dock appeared. Oh, he liked this one. It was peaceful. He watched as the lake started to shrink, and the dock started to morph into rocks. The musical rushing of water replaced the sound of songbirds in the air, and he could feel a temperature change. He looked down and saw he was now naked, the breeze ghosting across his skin. He looked up again, surprised to see Castiel kneeling down by the pool of water by the waterfall, wet clothing in his hand. He could mostly only see the back of his head, and the side of his face when he held up an item of clothing and inspected it. The furrow in his brow was so full of intent, as if the task at hand was the most important in the universe. Dean smiled gently and thought of all the times Cas looked at him the same way, only not as a task, and he started to step forward. Cas looked back at him and flashed a quick smile, full of secrets, and returned his attention to the laundry. His back arched gracefully over his work, the shafts of sunlight playing against his pale skin. It was lean and muscular, ending at the curve of his buttocks. Knees on the ground, his thighs tightened as he leaned forward to the water again. Dean simply looked at Castiel, taking in the simple lines that made up the beauty of his form. He felt a wave of affection flow through him, and he caught his breath. His heart was pounding with something- not lust (well, maybe a little lust), but something else. He came close and knelt down, sitting on a rock behind Cas, wrapping his arms gently around him, not wanting to disturb him, but unable to keep from touching him. The scene was so achingly familiar, he knew he had been here before but the feeling of anguish over conflicting memories was absent here. He wanted to stay here forever, his chest flush against his lover’s back, ear pressed to his shoulder, listening to Cas’ heartbeat and steady breathing. It was both grounding and euphoric at the same time. The scene got fuzzier and Dean, in a panic, reached and grabbed Cas’ hand, holding on for dear life as the ground started shaking and slipping, the dirt and grass turning into unforgiving concrete, cracked and uneven. Cas was now dangling from his hand, darkness below him threatening to swallow him, taking him away from Dean forever. Dean screamed, but no sound left his mouth. Cas was yelling something up to him, but the sound was sucked down into the darkness. His hand slipped and he couldn’t keep his grip and in slow-motion, he watched Cas float further away from him, into the vast blackness, eyes on Dean, helpless and broken. Dean woke with a start, sweating and gulping deep breaths of air, making himself dizzy. The dream had been so real. He put his hands over his eyes, trying to press back the tears threatening to spill. He sobbed loudly, not caring if he was heard, and his shoulders started to shake. He ran his hands over his head, holding it and falling face-first into his blanket. He wailed and cried, and for the first time in a long time, began to pray. “Please, make it stop...I can’t do this anymore, I need to save Sammy but I can’t because I’m losing my shit…” He stopped and took a deep breath and sobbed a bit more. “Please I can’t...I don’t know what...please just...help me.” He closed his eyes and cried, sobbing into his blanket, fully stretched out on his stomach, letting it all out because he couldn’t face this anymore, it was too much. If he didn’t get his head straight, he knew he would die, he’d make a fatal mistake and end up screwing up the world more in the process. Finally, his sobs ceased and he was able to sit up. He looked around for a bandana to wipe the snot and tears off, glad no one was around to see him ugly-cry. The sky was lightening into pink and he started packing up his camp. Time to get to on the road. He felt a pang of loss for the Impala but brushed it aside yet again. 

Two hours later and Dean had to admit to himself that was lost. He reacted like any other sane person would in that situation: he lost his fucking shit. Several loud screaming obscenities and three tree-punches later, he calmed down enough to try and figure out what he did wrong. He picked up his pack from where it landed when he flung it, and rummaged for a compass. He was coming up with zilch, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how to make one out of a needle and bowl of water. Or was it magnet and plate? He was so fucked. The Appalachian mountain chain went through 14 states and he had no idea if he was even still in Virginia. There was a risk of missing DC completely and being lost in the fucking woods until something decided he would make a good lunch. There were bears out here, after all. Like normal people threats. He had hunted and killed a hundred wendegos, but the prospect of fighting a black bear kinda freaked him out. Dean sighed in defeat. Stuck in the woods, soon to be bear shit, losing his mind being in love with a version of his dead friend that never existed. He drank some water, popped his back, inspected his knuckles to see if there was any damage, saw there was none, and started heading west again.  
Sometime later, Dean caught sight of a thin stream of smoke. It appeared to coming from the north side of the next slope. Dean automatically hunkered down, and waited for any signs of movement. From where he stood, the forest was too dense to see who (or what) had built the fire, so he took off toward the bottom of his side of the mountain, visually charting a path to come down to the camp from above. He just had to circle around. Dean kept low, adrenaline high at the prospect of hunting, and he slipped into that mode like putting on comfortable shoes. He kept an eye on his back to prevent rear attacks, and moved as silently through the bush as possible. He decided to stash his pack at a very tall dead tree so he could pick it out of the landscape easily. He tucked the Colt in the back of his pants and covered it with his button-down, holstered his knife, and rummaged around for something smaller to put salt in. He found a small bundle of silk tied with a blue ribbon. He fumbled it open to shake out the contents and froze. Memories flooded to the front of his mind. The rose heads held a bit of fragrance, and he saw himself and Cas leaving the vacant house to go to the massage parlor. There had been roses there- he had stopped and smelled them when they were waiting for Raphael to show up. Cas had looked so uncomfortable when Dean asked about him being a virgin. Dean grinned a crooked grin remembering it. He snapped out of it tied the bundle back up, putting it safely in the pocket of the trench coat in the bottom of his pack. He dumped a plastic zipper bag with dried black cohosh root in it and filled it with salt. He pocketed it along with his flask full of holy water, stashing his pack under the roots of the tree, and took off again, quicker with a lighter load. The smoke was closer, and he could smell the familiar woodsmoke smell mixed with some kind of meat. Maybe deer meat. His stomach made its presence known, growling loudly. He gave his traitorous tummy a threatening look and continued picking his way through the underbrush. There were a lot of cedar trees on this side of the mountain, so his boots kept slipping in the needles, but at least they were quieter than dry leaves. He was less than a hundred yards from the fire when he was able to get a good look at it. It appeared deserted, but it also looked straight up like a well-built human-trap. Dean decided to keep his position behind a tree with two trunks growing from the ground; it had a small space between them where he could keep watch without being seen. He crouched and waited, checking his rear every minute or so. Finally he saw some movement. A figure stepped into his line of vision, dressed in a red flannel and jeans. Their back was turned to Dean, and they didn’t seem too concerned with their surroundings. As they sat, Dean caught a profile and saw a beard. Dean ran his hand over his own scruff; he had gotten to shave when he stayed in that abandoned house, but that had been several days ago now. The man (or heavily bearded woman, he was in no place to judge) had a slight build, and was short- probably weighing a buck fifty soaking wet. In other words, not a threat. Dean wasn’t fooled. He had been in a couple of situations where someone seemingly innocent looking was merely bait for the Big Bad waiting in the shadows. Dean waited. And waited. He saw the man pull a large spit of meat off the fire, set it on a rock, and began to carve it up. Dean’s stomach growled again, and he held his breath for any sign the guy heard it. But no, the man continued to prep his lunch in silence, without even pausing. At least an hour had passed, and Dean was getting very uncomfortable crouched on the ground. He had to keep shifting from his right to left foot just to keep his legs from falling asleep. He decided it had been long enough. If someone was going to attack, they would have come up behind him by now, and so far the fact that the man was eating what looked like deer (cooked) meant that he wasn’t about half the things Dean would hunt. Not a vamp, ghost, wendego, demon, angel, or anything that hunted in a pack. Dean stood and waited until the pins and needles feeling left his feet and started to move forward slowly. He pulled the Colt and kept his thumb on the hammer, not wanting to even cock it unless it was absolutely necessary since he only had 3 bullets left. The knife was in his other hand, and he kept the bag of salt open and in his breast pocket. He had to decide how close he would be before letting his presence be known. It was decided for him when he stumbled over a homemade alarm system; a fishing line tied across his path connecting to a bunch of empty soup cans. The cans made their noise and Dean and the man froze. The man whipped around and stood at the same time, causing himself to fall over the rock he was using as a table. Dean saw his face just before he fell. “Chuck?” he said incredulously, “is that you, what the fuck??” A weak laugh came from behind the rock, “Dean? Hey man, how’s it going?” Dean moved over the fishing line and slowly walked over to Chuck, putting the Colt away and putting his hand on his flask. He rounded to rock and threw a splash of holy water at the man on the ground. Simultaneously, a splash of water hit his face, and he grimaced and wiped it off with his sleeve, huffing out a laugh. Chuck smiled up at him. “Little help?” Dean reached over and grasped Chuck by the forearm and pulled. At the same time, both brandished a silver knife and swiped the other’s skin. They met eyes in surprise and burst out laughing. Soon the chuckles became louder, almost hysterical, tears running down their cheeks with relief and the humor of the situation.  
Dean wiped the corners of his eyes and pocketed his knife. “What the hell are you doing out here, man?” he asked, “I thought you were dead!” Chuck wiped the sweat off his face with the arm of his shirt. “Well, yeah, I thought _you_ were dead. Until I heard rumors that you had taken off looking for Lucifer-” “Correction,” Dean broke in, “I’m looking for my brother. He just happens to be sharing a meat suit with that douchebag, and I plan to yank him out when I get ahold of him.” Chuck nodded, “Yeah that. Of Course.” Dean looked at Chuck suspiciously. “Have you been having visions again?” Chuck looked sheepish, one of his most consistent looks, and nodded again. “Yeah they started up a month or so ago? I don’t know, time is like, weird now, man, you know?” Dean smirked in agreement. Chuck looked down at his boots then away. “Actually they started when you were in the desert.” Dean’s eyes widened. He could barely get the question out fast enough as it popped into his mind. “Was Cas there?” he blurted. Chuck sat back down on the log by the fire and motioned for Dean to sit too. As keyed up as Dean was, he needed to hear every word, so he lowered himself never breaking eye contact. Chuck winced. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “he was there.” Dean sucked in a breath about to say something, Chuck cut him off, “But he was _not there_ also. It’s like there are two different memories happening at the same time.” He side-eyed Dean as he went back to cutting up the meat. Dean sat very still, eyes still wide. Chuck leaned forward and handed Dean a chunk of venison and waited. Dean took the meat and finally spoke, clearing his dry throat. “I guess that means I’m not crazy.” Chuck nodded, mouth full, still looking furtively at Dean. The hunter took a deep breath and let it out. Acknowledgement was calming a piece of him that had been in chaos for too long. Dean looked at the meat in his hands and shook his head and took a big bite. This meant he wasn’t crazy. Cas had been there. Someone had messed with his memory, probably that dick Zachariah. Dean and Chuck sat in silence and chewed. Dean was finally relaxing when two thoughts occurred to him. 1. Cas was dead _again_ and it was his fault, and 2. Chuck had probably seen them fucking. That’s probably what the looks were for. Dean felt his face turn bright red. He pointedly didn’t turn toward the prophet and spoke. “So I, uh, I guess you saw...uh, me and Cas um…” “Yeah... I can’t unsee that,” Chuck faced away, looking very uncomfortable. “Okay,” said Dean, thoroughly embarrassed, “let’s never talk about _that_ again.” Chuck turned to him, adjusting his body sympathetically, “No! It’s cool, man, uh it’s like, great you found him. Like you guys love each other and…” Dean’s face fell and he looked at the ground. Chuck grimaced at his own words. “Oh.” he said, “Yeah he’s gone. I saw it happen, I’m so sorry Dean.” Dean shrugged, fighting back the emotions he now could no longer control. “Yeah, well enough of that,” he said, changing the subject, “ how about you, how did you end up here?” Chuck smiled. “Actually I have you to thank,” he said, “I’ve been following you for some time, I just haven’t been able to catch up with you. I keep having having visions with you in them, so after I left Camp Chitaqua, and after trying to get out of the city, I came looking for you.” Dean’s eyebrows shot up, trying not to think of all the things he had done that Chuck might have seen. Chuck saw his concern, “Oh, no man, don’t worry, I only caught glimpses of a few things and drew conclusions the best I could. I saw the sign for the park and knew you were headed north, so I came out here.” Dean frowned. “But I’ve been lost for about half a day,” he admitted. Chuck took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. “I’m guessing you must have finally doubled back to the trail. It’s just over the ridge right there. I’m not adventurous enough to wander too far into the woods.” He smiled sheepishly again. Dean’s face cracked into a honest smile. It felt good to have someone he could talk to again. He didn’t really give a fuck how he got there, but he had always been trustworthy and smart, so Dean was more than happy to have him by his side. Things were looking up; Chuck might be able to help him locate Sam. They could get this show on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk. I feel like I needed to have little mercy on Dean. He is so fragile underneath all that sexy angst.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Blah blah blah my editing is shit, blah blah blah beta blah blah.   
> Sorry for any mistakes- I get excited and maybe post before I've properly edited it. Also I'm ridiculously lazy about paragraph breaks. Forgive my format. It forgives you?

Sam grinned across the table at the Dean his mind had created. And Dean grinned right back. The representation was really quite amazing. Eventually Dean furrowed his brow with a smirk and said, “What, do I have something hanging out of my nose?” He wiped at his face and Sam laughed. “Naw, man, It’s just good see you.” Dean popped the top of his coffee and took a sip. “Okay, what’d we got?” He shifted to look at the laptop in front of Sam. Sam’s face fell into hunter-research-mode, and he angled the monitor so Dean could see it as well. “So get this…” Dean smirked. “What?” Sam asked when he saw his face. “Nothing,” said Dean innocently, “It’s just funny that you say that to yourself too. ‘So get this.’” Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Anyway...I have compiled all the research I’ve ever done into this laptop for easier browsing. I’m searching through my angel lore knowledge to try and figure out how this book made it into my mind.” Dean picked up the _Angel Encyclopedia, A-R_ and opened it, scanning the pages. He stopped at the Michael page, muttering “douchecanoe” under his breath. Sam continued, “And I brought you here to try and bounce ideas off you.” Dean nodded, continuing to read. “So you don’t think Lucifer was the one to leave this here? Like baiting you or something?” Sam shook his head. “I think something is wrong with him-” “Well I coulda told you that,” Dean chuckled. “Yeah but this is different,” Sam said, running his hand across his face, scrolling through the laptop, not knowing exactly what he was looking for. “It seems like his power is draining. If he was doing this on purpose, it serves him in no way I can think of. Keeping me placated in a dream life has suited him until now, except the times when he had to rebuild because the illusion keeps slipping.” Dean sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Well,” Dean said, “that’s weird. He’s an archangel. The biggest and baddest of all those winged assholes. If he can’t even hold up one little illusion to keep you from disturbing the peace, his batteries must be running low.” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a good point- he isn’t just losing power, it’s draining because he’s cut off from his power supply. I heard him thinking once, just for a few seconds before he did some repairs and distracted me by giving Charlotte the flu-” Sam winced, feeling loss over the children he loved so dearly. He pushed the thought away. “Anyway,” he sighed, “he was thinking about Heaven and trying to break in to charge up. He was trying to figure out how to get in without being noticed, but realized that he needed back up but couldn’t let on that he was getting weaker. Something about waging war in Heaven as a cover?” Sam closed his eyes, easily remembering the conversation Lucifer had with Ruby and her glee over a new war- that was her bread and butter. And then Lucifer using Sam’s hand to stroke her face and kiss her gently on the forehead. Sam shuddered in revulsion. He hated that bitch and was furious to see her alive. She had shown up right before he made the decision to say yes. He shut the memory down, not wanting to relive the shame again.  
Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean. Dean had a thoughtful look on his face and was staring off into the distance. “What is it, Dean, you got something?” Dean cocked his head and looked at Sam. “What would be strong enough to break through Lucifer’s walls to get this to you,” he said tapping the book with his finger, “and why? Clearly it’s to offer some sort of help.” Sam nodded, following the train of thought. “Yeah,” he said, “and it has to be someone who is a threat to what Lucifer is doing. Angel? God?” Dean nodded, “That would be my guess.” He flipped through the book and sighed, “If it were God, I’m sure He would’ve gone about this a little more directly. So that leaves an angel. But only one kind of angel would be strong enough to mess with Lucifer.” Sam nodded and Dean flipped to the Michael page. “Well, we know it isn’t Michael, he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with this shitstorm down here- fucking sore loser. It looked like his side was losing so he took his toys and went home.” Dean continued to flip pages until he came to the R section. “Raphael?” “Maybe,” said Sam, “he was certain his side was going to win, but he really wasn’t on the side of humans. He made that pretty clear. I don’t see how he would benefit from ousting Lucifer from my vessel- I’m pretty sure he’s got Nick stashed away somewhere for safekeeping. If anything, the guy’s prepared.” Dean snorted, “Yeah, like a fucking boy scout.” He looked at Raphael’s page, “This says he’s like the sergeant-at-arms of the God Squad, but it doesn’t give much more information than that.” Sam made a face and pulled the book over so he could read. His eyebrows shot up. It literally said, “He’s like the sergeant-at-arms of the God Squad.” Sam let out a huff of laughter, “What the fuck, that’s weird.” The illustration in the book looked similar to the ones depicted of the other archangels: non-gender specific, dressed like a warrior. But someone had drawn googly eyes and a goatee on the picture with a pen. There was a word bubble over his head saying, “I’m a dick.” Sam looked up at Dean skeptically. “Did you do this?” Dean rolled his eyes, “Wouldn’t you know if I did. I’m not even real. This is just you talking to yourself.” Sam nodded absently, attention turned back to the book. “There only leaves one left,” Sam flipped back to G. His eyes widened in surprise. The page was by far more ornate than the others, gilded lettering and a very detailed depiction of the archangel- far more realistic and definitely a man. He had broad golden wings, three sets, arching from his back, and he held a long trumpet, resting it on his armor-clad foot. The breastplate of his armor was embossed with what looked like a…lollypop? Sam pulled a confused face. There was something familiar about this. He couldn’t place the face, but he knew he had seen him before. Sam shook his head and began to read, hoping it would shed light on the subject. The first letter was scrolled and ornate. Sam’s eye was caught by it and he followed the filigree and admired its beauty. It was an S. He started to read out loud, “Sam, you fucking idiot. Pull yourself together and hurry up and figure it out…” Sam looked up at Dean in confusion. Dean shrugged his shoulders. Sam continued to read. “We don’t have a lot of time. Lucifer has figured out that you’ve flown the coup. Any minute he could find your little hidey-hole and you and fake bro are fubar.” Sam quickly looked back at the illustration, the truth dawning on him. He could place the face now- it was the Trickster- the one who threw professors out of windows and the one that killed Dean a thousand times at the Mystery Spot just to get a point across. “You motherfucker-” Sam blinked and the tiny picture of the angel was now flipping the finger. Sam looked back to the words, and continued to read. “Yeah, way to go Einstein, you figured it out. Now let's get over our stupid little grudge match, and get you out of there.” Sam huffed, momentarily stuck between hurling the book across the room and cheering at the notion that he could get out. He took a breath to keep it together. Sam looked up at Dean. Dean shrugged and smiled again, drinking his coffee. His frothy cappuccino. Scratch that, his caramel mocha with whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. Sam narrowed his eyes and stood up. “What the fuck-” He backed up as Dean stood spreading his arms wide, smirking. He was clearly shorter than Dean now, and his hair grew longer and his face became, well, the face Sam had wanted to punch for many years now. Which is what he impulsively did.  
The Trickster fell back on his ass at the force of Sam’s hit. He rubbed his jaw, “Okay maybe I deserved that.” He stood up, taking a step back from the fuming giant. Sam opened his mouth to start yelling, but thought better of it. He took a steadying breath and sat down. “What are you doing in my brain? Did Lucifer put you up to this?” His visitor shook his head ruefully. “Nah, my big bro is a gigantic asshole, and I’m tired of feeling the blowback of his ridiculous ‘take over the world’ plan.” He had started pacing, but stopped when he saw Sam’s confused face. “Don’t make that face Sammy, it’s bound to stick like that.” Sam stuttered out, “S-so you’re...I mean, you’re the...what? I totally can’t get my head around this.” “Clearly,” said Gabriel, rolling his eyes, “but you can fangirl later, we need to leave, like right now,” he motioned to the wall and door behind Sam. Sam turned around and saw the tacky wallpaper with large hippie daisies starting to peel. The paint on the green door was cracked and chipped, and Sam backed away, watching in horror as it started to vibrate. He jumped as he felt a hand grip his forearm. He looked down at the archangel, who had an expectant look on his face. “Well?” he said impatiently. “Well what?” Sam shot back, starting to panic. “Well, get us the fuck outta here!” Gabriel was looking back at the door, a worried look on his face. “Aren’t you the archangel here? Zap us out or something!” Sam exclaimed, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, but I’m a little low on go-go juice, Sammy-boy. It’s your brain, just think us somewhere else, quick. Some repressed memory, something you got burried down deep, where Lucifer won’t think to look. Hurry, I’m trying to hold him back, but he’s figured out I’m in here, so he’s pretty pissed.” Sam closed his eyes and went deep. He felt the vibrations stop, and the air around him shifted. He still smelled stale motel room, but different, more mildewed. He groaned before he opened his eyes, knowing exactly where they were. Gabriel let go of his arm as Sam opened his eyes. The angel had a gleeful look in his eye and clapped his hands together. “So what’s this Sammy? Care to share with the class?” Sam’s face reddened at the memory and he looked away. “Stop calling me Sammy, It’s Sam.” Gabriel walked over to the bed nearest to the wall, plopping down and motioning to the bedside table. “Is that what I think it is?” Sam sighed loudly and looked at the ceiling, hands on hips, avoiding the angel’s eye. The table was littered with used tissues and a large bottle of lotion. “Was Sammy having a little ‘me time’? Choking the chicken? Spanking the monkey? A date with Rosey and her five sisters?” Sam finally looked at him and barked out, “I was like 12, god, give it a rest!” Gabriel smirked, “Sinner.” “Shut up. I was...you know, and Dean and my dad came back from the hunt early,” Sam grumbled, “I wasn’t expecting them home for another hour.” He cleared his throat, face still red. “This is burried deep, I guess. No one knows about this, not even Jess.” He cringed again. He had momentarily forgotten about his fake life. Gabriel’s smirk dropped off his face, “Yeah let’s not go there right now, you can mourn your fake family later,” he said, not unkindly, “we have to plan your escape route.” “You’re not coming with me?” Sam asked, trying not to panic again. “Well, I’m not exactly here anyway, cowboy,” Gabriel said, walking to the windows and peeking out the curtains, “I don’t know how long we have-” He paused, smile creeping over his face again, “Really Sam?” Sam strode to the window to look outside. The parking lot was empty, and he couldn’t see what was so funny. “The sign, Romeo, look at the sign,” Gabe motioned up to the motel sign, which read _Big Dick’s Halfway Inn_ Sam laughed out loud at that. “No, that’s the actual name of the motel we stayed in. Hard to forget.” Gabriel smirked again, “Yeah, I bet. _Hard_ to forget.” Sam groaned and backed away from the window. “Okay let’s get on with this,” he said, “I really want my body back. How do I expel Lucifer?” The archangel turned back to him, clearly struggling between about 30 more dick jokes and getting down to business. Fortunately the severity of their situation seemed to win out, and he put on his serious face. “You have to face him and tell him he no longer has permission to inhabit your vessel.” Sam looked at him incredulously. “You mean it’s that easy?” Sam asked, “I could’ve done that like a million times by now!” Gabe looked at him sternly with an eyebrow raised, “Really? You could have faced him, resisted his charms, mindgames, temptations? Only one person in the history of this earth was able to do that, and you sir, are not that guy. Lucifer is very powerful, even at 30%. He doesn’t need mojo when he has the power of persuasion.” Sam considered that carefully. Gabriel was right. The times Sam had been strong enough to get a glimpse of what was really happening, Lucifer would swoop in and smooth down his feathers and make more promises. Sam felt weak and defeated. He had screwed up so badly. What a fucking idiot he was! Weak! He got sucked back into Ruby’s bullshit because he was lonely, he didn’t even care that it was Lucifer that resurrected her. He was so hopeless after the incident at the bar where his dad’s “friends” made him relapse on demon blood. It triggered something in him and he was off to the races. Ruby saved him when he became desperate, sick, looking for another fix. Dean was gone and Sam had broken the world, and he said yes to Lucifer because it seemed like the solution at the time. If he could just follow his destiny, maybe Dean would too, and they could just end the damn world and live in paradise. And he had stupidly thought it had worked. But it wasn’t paradise, it was a cage in his own mind, and Lucifer held the key.  
Sam sat on the motel bed, head in hands. He felt a gentle hand come to rest on his head. “Sam,” Gabe said softly, “that’s all ancient history now. But you can try to fix it. We just need to get you back to your brother.” Sam’s head shot up. “You’ve seen my brother? He’s alive? Where is he? Did he send you here?” “Woah, slow down there, buckaroo,” Gabriel held his hands up, “He’s fine, he’s been trying to get to you for some time, but we need to figure out how to get Lucifer out when he gets here.” Sam nodded, eyes wide. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and narrowed his eyes at the angel. “How did you get here? I don’t remember saying yes to anyone but Lucifer,” he said, suspiciously, “and how did you survive the gates closing?” “ Ah, you know about that, huh,” Gabriel’s lip twitched in a sneer and he rolled his eyes, “Big Mikey bounced with Ralph when the going got tough. Dean refused to say yes, his replacement was shit, so it looked like Heaven might screw the pooch on the whole paradise scheme. They called the armies home and locked the gates. No one in or out.” Gabriel smiled ruefully, pulling a bar of chocolate from his pocket. He returned to the window, chewed thoughtfully, and looked out at the fake landscape. “Those of us under witness protection got left behind. I wasn’t trying to end up in that small inclosed space with my dickhole brothers again. Granted, plenty of the angels are okay by me, Castiel being one of them, but Mike and Ralph? Not happy I left when Dad did. You know, the usual family drama.” Sam watched Gabriel from the bed, noting how different he was from the Trickster who tried to teach lessons to humans -which often ended in death- for his own amusement. He wasn’t sure he could trust him, after all, he had killed Dean multiple times and subjected Sam to hunting him down for 6 of the most miserable months of his entire life. He seemed so human here. Sam wondered how much power he had left after being cut off from Heaven. “Not a whole lot,” said Gabe, turning to Sam, “been getting more human by the minute. You wouldn’t believe the crap I have to eat to keep from going into a sugar coma. Blech!” He pulled a face. Sam’s eyebrows were pulled down in anger. “You’ve been reading my thoughts?” he growled, “Since when?” Gabriel giggled gleefully. “It’s like on loudspeaker full volume here,” he said, “you should see you face right now! I also get images, full-color,” he waggled his eyebrows up and down, “like what happened in that bed over there.” Sam’s face reddened and his eyes darkened dangerously. “What do I have to do to expel you?” Gabe’s smile became a half smirk, and he held his hands up again in a placating gesture, “I’m just saying,” Gabe said, “It’s a natural act, beautiful in its-” Sam held his hand up, closing his eyes in frustration. “ _Anyway…_ let’s move on please,” he said, exasperated with how this kept coming up. “Heh heh...coming up,” Gabe guffawed. Sam ignored him and went on. “I need to face him. The best way to do that is to...just do it. He is a lot less strong than he was even a week ago, the illusion is failing, he can’t keep it up much longer,” Gabe bit his lip, snorted with laughter, “‘Keep it up..’” Sam rolled his eyes and kept talking. “I think if I meet him on my turf, somewhere where I have more control, I might be able to…” he paused before he spoke, trying carefully not to say anything that could be made into an innuendo, “make him...show up.” Gabe looked disappointed. “Aw Sammy we were on a roll!” Sam folded his arms, again ignoring the comment. “Then I have to say...what?” Gabriel put his serious face on once more. “As far as I know, you tell him to vamoose. If you can keep him from talking you out of it that is. But we have to make the timing perfect, if you oust him before the cavalry gets here, you’ll pop into a nest full of demons, and you’re dead.” Sam nodded in agreement. “Well, when is that?” he asked. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get contact from my guy on the outside. Until then we wait. Raid the minibar, watch porn, you know, whatever. Ooo, I wonder if the have _Casa Erotica_ on this thing,” he said, flopping on the other bed, reaching for the remote. Sam shook his head and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, guilty, I ship it... I know it's not cannon in any type of measurable way, so I might not pair it.  
> I'll update my tags and warn you if things happen. Until then. Ya know, Dick jokes
> 
> And btw, Big Dick's Halfway Inn is real. oh yeah.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there, guys!
> 
> And no spoiler intended for those who haven't seen last night's episode, but remember the word "sinner" and that I made the joke first the day before! Or rather stole it from Tommy Boy :)
> 
> A moment of silence for Chris Farley, comic genius. 
> 
> And on with the show!

Castiel opened and closed his fists compulsively. He had been pacing the room, practically wearing a hole in the linoleum. Bobby sat, as usual, with a tumbler of whiskey at the kitchen table. The harsh light of the single bulb etched lines into his weathered face, making him appear older. He worried his lip with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Bobby looked up at Castiel. “Sit down, kid. You’re making me nervous,” he growled out. The angel stopped short and glared at the hunter. He said nothing but plopped into a chair, unceremoniously, crossing his arms over his chest. Bobby was starting to feel more uneasy. Castiel was displaying some odd behavior, even for him. He was usually so damn stoic, and Bobby was sure he’d never seen the angel _cross his arms._ It was very _human._  
They had been cooped up too long in the house waiting for John to return from a hunt or a bender or whatever, and Bobby was ready to reach out and throttle the angel. And he would too, absolutely. If the guy wasn’t an all-powerful being of light and destruction, Bobby would knock some sense into him. The damn fool was stupid (or desperate) enough to actually think summoning a demon would make things _better,_ instead of monumentally _worse._ He cocked his head, side-eyeing Castiel where he sat. Bobby supposed they could do it, if they went about it safely. The demon in question was a crossroads demon, the slipperiest of their kind. They could drag him up for a chat and end up under contract for the next thousand years, or however it worked. Castiel seemed to think the demon in question might have some kind of idea on how to track down a portal between universes. The idea sounded downright ridiculous to the old hunter, but he had been subject to many things he thought impossible as of late, so who was he to judge? If this Angel of the Lord was convinced there was a timeline where John had another son, and a demon could help them find a portal to another dimension so Castiel could try to merge them or correct them or some shit, Bobby was totally on board. I mean, why not? Nothing else was going on today, John was out somewhere, the phones were unusually silent, and Bobby was only on his third drink. No matter it was only 2pm. If any occasion needed booze, this was it. Bobby let out a loud sigh. Castiel’s head snapped to attention. Bobby paused, just to torture the kid a little longer, and finally said, “Okay, fine,” Castiel was already jumping up, rummaging the kitchen cabinets. “Just don’t make a mess or burn the house down or anything.” _Don’t want to live forever,_ the hunter thought, tossing the last of his whiskey down his throat, and contemplating another. Probably not, he had to keep his wits about him if this was about to go down. Most likely this Crowley fella wasn’t going to give anything up for free, so he needed to have some sort of backup plan. Couldn’t make it up as they went, that would surely have them over a barrell.   
Bobby stood, moving into his study to check the paint of the devil’s traps on the ceiling and under the rug. He had a few more painted in various places, and angel warding on the windows. Rumor had it that Crowley was on Lucifer’s shit-list, so that possibly could be of some use when it came down to dealing with the demon. Castiel was busy dumping ingredients into a large metal bowl and disappearing every once in awhile and coming back with exotic stuff Bobby had never seen before. He noticed the angel had been considerate to bring enough to have leftovers for Bobby’s stash. The guy was pretty alright, for an angel. Bobby huffed a quiet laugh and went to watch Castiel construct the spell.   
Soon he was ready. Bobby stood outside the circle of the trap and watched as the angel dropped a match into the bowl and chanted a few words in Enochian. The contents flashed and puffed up a small cloud of foul-smelling smoke. _Great, sulfur,_ Bobby thought, _now my whole damn house is going to stink for month._   
When the smoke cleared, a man (demon) stood before them, dressed in a fine tailored three-piece black suit, holding a glass of dark liquor, with a very pissed off look on his face. His eyes were blood red, and as he took a sip from the tumbler, they switched to human eyes. He looked at the angel and hunter and smirked. “Hello, boys,” he said, in a smooth British accent, “is there something I can do for you? A little odd, you calling me here instead of a crossroad, as is customary-” the demon stepped forward as he spoke, then stopped. His eyes slowly rolled toward the ceiling. “Oh. I see. You wanted to trap me.” The snark in his voice put Bobby on edge, and he deepened his scowl. “I assume you need something, so if we could get on with it, please, I am a very busy man.” Bobby snorted, looking to Castiel. The demon raised his eyebrow as the angel stepped forward. “Ah, Castiel,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “Crowley,” Castiel stated with a curt nod. “I need to know the location of a portal-” “You _need,_ do you?” the demon sneered, “Well, do you know what I _need?_ I need you to break this bloody trap before I’ll even talk about what you _need.”_ Bobby stepped forward and growled, “No deal.” He reached for the bottle of holy water sitting on the table. “Whoa,” Crowley held his hands up, tipping his now empty glass, “we can discuss this like civilized human beings, can’t we? No need for violence.” He looked down his nose at the hunter. “You can _act_ like a human being for the purpose of this conversation, yes?” “That’s rich,” Bobby retorted, “coming from demon scum like you.” “Touchy touchy,” smirked Crowley, “I seemed to have hit a sore spot, haven’t I? Well, for the sake of argument, I promise to be civil and not rip your innards out if you promise to put the holy water away.” Bobby hesitated and looked at Castiel, who had been thoughtfully silent through the exchange. Castiel nodded at Bobby, who set the bottle down. Bobby turned to Crowley, who now had a smug little smile on his face. Bobby nearly growled at him. “Down boy,” the demon smirked, “now how about we break this trap and discuss terms of this deal you would like to make. This is why you brought me here, right? Or was it so you could subject me to your stunning wit and conversational skills?” He sat down on the chair within the circle, lounging back and holding out his glass. “A nice freshening up would do, I know you have burbon about, this place smells like a distillery.” Castiel stepped to Bobby’s side and put his hand on the hunter’s arm. “Do what he says,” Castiel motioned to the devil’s traps. Bobby grunted and grumbled, but went ahead and pulled out his pocket knife and scraped the paint under the rug, breaking the trap, and stood on a chair to do the ceiling, hesitating and looking down at the demon, who looked innocently back. Bobby sighed and scraped the paint. Crowley smiled pleasantly, though it didn’t reach his shark eyes. “Now, that wasn’t so hard now was it,” he said silkily, “now, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he extended a hand to Bobby, to which the hunter stepped back and scowled at. Crowley withdrew it, and replaced it with the hand holding the empty tumbler. “Charmed,” he sighed, “now be a lamb and fill up daddy’s glass, would you?” Bobby cringed slightly and looked at Castiel again. Once again, the angel nodded, and with obstinate complaining under his breath, Bobby went to get the bottle on his desk. “No, Bobby Singer, no that one,” the demon crooned, “the one in your bottom left drawer.” Bobby groaned- the bottle in question was a single-malt scotch, Balvenie, 40 years old and more expensive that Bobby’s current car. He yanked the drawer open as loudly as possible, thunking the bottle on his desk, rattling the lamp. He kept a sour look on his face as he moaned inwardly. This was celebration hunter’s helper. For when they stopped the apocalypse. He and John had gone dutch on the bottle, and John would most like kill him when he found out it had been opened already, and poured for a _demon_ no less. Maybe he would get lucky and the world would end before that happened. Bobby held the scotch in his hand admiring the label. He walked over to Crowley and snatched the glass out of his hand. Crowley had that smug look again, and it took every ounce of Bobby’s will not to just smash the whole bottle in the demon’s face. He handed the tumbler over, and watched ruefully as Crowley took a sip and rolled it around his mouth. He swallowed looking directly into Bobby’s eyes, smirking. The hunter shuddered in revulsion, and nodded at Castiel to get on with it.   
Castiel stepped forward, positioning himself on the couch facing Crowley. “There has been a disruption in the timeline. I believe it was altered by an angel in the future who used a spell improperly. I need a way into the other timeline to try and correct it.” Crowley listened, eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I have access to that type of information?” he asked, “I’m just a low level crossroads demon. That’s upper management need-to-know intel; I would have to utilize many of my resources to access that kind of information.” He looked lofty as he took another sip, turning to Bobby, “This is really quite lovely, you should join me in a glass.” The hunter scowled but grabbed the tumbler off of his desk, and poured two fingers. He tentatively took a sip and tried not to groan in pleasure. It was smooth with a taste of oak, apple and spices. It finished up dry, and Bobby closed his eyes to appreciate the notes. When he opened them, Crowley was smiling at him wickedly, causing the hunter to blush and turn away.   
Castiel rolled his eyes impatiently, and cleared his throat, “If the two of you are finished, I would like to discuss terms.” Bobby’s blush deepened, which didn’t go unnoticed by the demon. Crowley turned his attention back to the task at hand, put a finger to his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “Well,” he said finally, “I suppose I would trade information for something of value, but seeing as you don’t have anything of value, I don’t think I could be satisfied that it was a fair trade. Unless,” he turned back to Bobby, the wicked, knowing smile on his lips again, “we could discuss maybe a temporary trade, one that would benefit us all…” Bobby’s eyebrows shot up, looking confused at Castiel then back to Crowley. Castiel sighed loudly. “No deal,” he growled out, “this doesn’t have anything to do with him, leave him out of it.” Bobby stood up straight, “Excuse me, I’m standing right here, you know,” he said frustrated, “I think I should have a say in whatever it is you’re talking about.” Castiel looked sharply at the hunter. “He is suggesting a trade for your soul.” “Oh,” said Bobby, sneering, “and you didn’t think to ask me my opinion about it, it being _my_ soul and all?” Castiel stood up, gripped Bobby by the elbow and pulled him into the kitchen. “That’s not a good idea,” he whispered, “that would mean an eternity in Hell, and I don’t think that’s something you want.” Bobby drew his eyebrows together, frowning. “I see it like this,” he said, “if I do this, you go correct the timeline and it’s like it never happened. I can do this, he said it was temporary, didn’t he? What do you think he means by that?” “What I meant was I would be willing to return it once you kill Lucifer, love,” Crowley called from the study, “that is in the event you are actually successful in that endevor. I don’t know about changing the timeline, but I do know if Lucifer gets ahold of this world, I’m out of a job. And who do you think he’ll come for after destroying the human race? He hates us as much you, maybe more.” Bobby and Castiel walked back to the study, both sitting on the couch. Crowley smiled ruefully, tilting his head. The two on the couch looked at each other, in silent conference. Bobby prayed, for the angel’s ears only. _Castiel, let me do this. I need to do something. My doubt that John can handle the end of the world is making me doubt my ability to get him there. I don’t like the idea of risking Sam, hell, he’s practically my boy too. If things go south, we can find a way to get me out of this._ Castiel looked at Bobby with wide eyes, then nodded imperceptibly. Bobby looked at Crowley, who had watched the exchange with a frown. He hid it quickly when Bobby turned his attention back to him, replaced by an aloof, disinterested face. “So how do we do this,” Bobby asked, surprising the demon, who then looked very pleased. “It’s easy really,” he said pulling a scroll out of thin air, letting it unravel to the floor, “just some formalities, no worries.” He pulled reading glasses from his breast pocket and slid the up his nose, looking over the lenses at Bobby. Bobby sighed and moved to the other chair, pulling it closer to the demon, putting on his own readers. Castiel had stood, and was pacing the room again.   
After much discussion, arguments over details and wording, Bobby was ready to sign. “Alright,” said Crowley, rolling up the scroll, signature section completed, “basically the deal is this: I find the portal and give you the location, you give me your soul to be collected in 10 years in exchange. _Unless-_ you successfully kill Lucifer, in which case, it will be returned to you, no harm done?” Bobby nodded, his heart racing. “Now, you know what comes next, don’t you?” Crowley smiled innocently at Bobby, with raised brows. Bobby shifted his eyes back and forth between the contract and the demon’s face. “I take that as a no,” Crowley said, “all deals are sealed with a kiss.” “You’re fucking with me, right?” Bobby said incredulously, “It thought that was just a rumor- I didn’t think it was a real thing-” Crowley drained the last of his glass and stood, clapping his hands and rubbing them together briskly. “Yes. Let’s get to it then,” He smiled sweetly, motioning for Bobby to join him. “Oh for fucks sake,” groaned Bobby, “I didn’t- I mean-” he steeled himself and stepped into Crowley’s space, looking at Castiel who had an amused look on his face, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled. He cleared his throat and wrinkled his nose. The smell of sulfur was faint, but present, and he watched in horror as the demon licked his lower lip. Bobby closed his eyes and tilted his chin to Crowley. He felt the demon’s mouth clamp onto his, and he automatically parted his lips, causing the demon to make a surprised noise and slip his tongue in, making a quick swipe of the hunter’s mouth. It seemed to go on longer than Bobby thought necessary, and he pulled back suddenly when he heard a faint ‘click’. His face was flushed and red, and Crowley had a odd look that was quickly replaced by a smirk. “That was lovely, Bobby Singer,” he crooned, “pleasure doing business with you.” He took a step back, and turned to Castiel, nodded briskly and disappeared. Bobby’s hand came up to his mouth a he pressed his fingers to his lip curiously. He shook it off and turned to Castiel. “I swear if you mention this to anyone, _especially_ John,” he growled at the angel, unable to meet his eye, “I will heat up a vat of holy oil and we’re having buffalo wings for dinner.” Castiel watched with a half smile on his face. “That was a very noble sacrifice you made today, Bobby Singer, and I am forever in your debt.” Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and threw back another two fingers of scotch, “It’s fine,” he said after swallowing, “he did taste a bit like sulfur, though.” Castiel cleared his throat, “I meant sacrificing your soul.” Bobby sucked in his breath, opened his mouth, then thought better of it, and grabbed the bottle and glass and stomped out of the house.   
********

 

It was several hours and half a bottle later when Crowley turned up again. He breezed into the room from the kitchen, surveying Bobby at his desk with his head propped up in his fist, clearly drunk, and Castiel lounging- slouched down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He cleared his throat, trying to catch their attention. Bobby looked up, keeping his head propped. “It’s about damn time,” he slurred, “I’s beginning to think you stood me up. Us. Stood us up. Well, that was embarrassing.” The hunter’s face was already rosy and it colored deeper and he started giggling. Crowley turned to Castiel who hadn’t moved. “Is he always like this when he drinks?” he asked. Castiel kept his position but rolled his eyes to Crowley and shrugged slightly. “I’ve never seen him drunk,” he replied, “this is a first for me.” The angel hiccuped and looked back at the ceiling. The demon looked around the room before his eyes landed on the bottle, empty, and on its side. He sighed longingly. He was so looking forward to another drink when he got back, but would have to settle for the rot-gut swill that the hunter kept on hand. He sauntered to the hunter’s desk, and laid a fingertip on the rim of the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. “May I?” he directed to the hunter. Bobby made a ‘welcome to it’ gesture with his free hand- the one not supporting his lolling head. Crowley squinted his eyes at Bobby before lifting the bottle to his nose and inhaling. He reeled slightly, but poured it into the empty glass in front of Bobby, and took a sip. Not bad, but not good either. It would have to do. He turned to the angel who was presumably drunk as well, though he knew it would take considerably more to get him pissed as Bobby. “Castiel,” he said, “If you would be so kind as to sober yourself up, as well as your companion, so I can share the news I brought. Well, you can leave Bobby as he is, he would loathe to know you wasted his buzz. Though I don’t envy the hangover,” Crowley looked at Bobby sideways, grinning. “But doesn’t he look like a sweetheart?” “I’ll sweetheart you, asshole,” Bobby grumbled out, seemingly unbothered by his own nonsensical retort. Crowley grinned wider and turned to Castiel, who was standing upright and clear-eyed. “What have you found?” said the angel, eyebrows furrowing. The demon took his mid-grade whiskey and sat gracefully in his chair, crossing his legs. Castiel returned to the couch. “I asked around and found out some interesting information. It seems there are only five beings in existence who can travel between parallel universes, and three tries and a prize if you can guess who they are?” He looked between Castiel’s stony face and Bobby’s inebriated one. “Anyone? No, I guess not, look at the two of you…” he sighed loudly, taking a sip and grimacing as it went down. “Four archangels and a certain absent Father, of course.” Castiel’s eye twitched, but he otherwise showed no outward signs of emotion. Crowley decided to stow the teasing, lest the angel was in a smiting mood. He flicked his fingers, a folded paper appearing between them. “This is the map to the portal Lucifer keeps open in case he needs to make a quick escape,” he said dryly, “it’s been there since the literal dawn of time. Lucifer has always had a taste for the Americas; so much unused space in those days. Anyhow, I’m sure it’s heavily guarded, so watch yourselves, and good luck.” He lifted his fingers to snap off, but nothing happened. He tried again, staring dumbly at his hand. Bobby was smirking at him, finally sitting up. “Oopsy,” he said, “looks like I fixed the traps.” Crowley did not look amused. “Bollocks,” he muttered, toeing the edge of the circle to see if he could get close enough to Bobby to take a swing at him for being a such a prat. Bobby chuckled and leaned back in his chair, nearly falling out of it. “You’re staying put until we make sure your lead is solid,” he said, not slurring at all. Crowley narrowed his eyes dangerously, they had played him, let him get comfortable, and now he was trapped. Castiel snatched the paper from his hand while Bobby had him distracted. Bobby’s face settled in a wide grin. He lifted a decanter from the floor beside him, and poured two fingers into his glass. “Oh you bastard,” ground out the demon. He had to admit he had respect for the ploy, it was very clever. “Well then,” Crowley said finally, settling back into his chair, whiskey in hand, “what do you propose?” Bobby took the paper from Castiel and laid it in the desk. “Okay, this should be easy to get to, it’s about a three day drive to Tennessee,” he said absently. Crowley rolled his eyes at Castiel, who looked back without cracking his serious expression. Bobby continued, “The hike to Virgin Falls is about seven miles, which isn’t bad, but we’ll have to go at night when there’s no visitors.” He looked up at the other two who stared back. “What...” the hunter said, “Oh, fuck no. I’m not letting you zap me there, I might be a drunk, but I ain’t a fan of puking my guts up and then passing out.” Castiel stepped forward, looking pleadingly at Bobby. “Maybe flying will affect you differently this time,” he said, “but we need to do this quickly, I feel it’s...urgent.” Bobby looked skeptically at the angel. “Oh, alright,” Bobby grumbled, shooting Crowley a look, “I guess it’s better than being in a car for three days in a car with _him.”_ Crowley feigned hurt, putting a hand over his heart, “Bobby your words cut deep,” he said, “I do have feelings,” he held out his now empty glass to Bobby. “Come on now, I know you’re sore at me for taking that picture, but since we’re _so_ close now, how about another drink. You know, for old time’s sake.” Bobby had a confused look on his face and asked hesitantly, “What picture?” Crowley grinned, and waggled his glass in Bobby’s direction. The hunter sighed and brought the decanter over, sloshing in about three fingers. “Bobby Singer, being so generous,” Crowley was having a fantastic time teasing the hunter. If he was stuck with this merry band of idiots, he would have his own kind of fun. Bobby stepped back and placed the scotch on his desk again. “Now what picture are you talking about?” he demanded. Crowley looked at him smugly and brandished his mobile, open to a selfie shot of he and Bobby snogging, his eyes turned deviously to the camera. “Oh hell,” exclaimed Bobby, “why did you have to take a picture?” “Why did you have to use tongue?” Crowley grinned as Bobby’s face turned impossibly red, eyes wide in shock. “I-I thought...I-” he sputtered. “I know what you thought,” the demon cut him off, “and I’m very flattered, you smooth idiot.” He batted his eyelashes at the hunter and took a sip suggestively looking over the rim of his glass. Bobby’s lips thinned until they almost disappeared and his hands opened and closed at his sides, looking like he was ready to grab Crowley by the throat. “You son of a bitch!” Bobby yelled, “Erase that! You ain’t got no right-” Crowley laughed at that. “Actually, it’s son of a witch,” he offered, “and no, I don’t think I will. I need it,” Bobby’s eyebrow shot up. “For insurance,” Crowley said quickly, “so you’ll be more inclined to let me go after our little trip. Wouldn’t want your hunter mates getting ahold of this little gem, that could end badly.” Bobby took a threatening step forward and Crowley held the phone up, thumb poised over ‘send’. “Ah-uh-uh,” he intoned, “play nice or everyone in my contacts will know of our budding romance.” “You’re bluffing,” Bobby said with a trace of hope betraying his voice, “You wouldn’t.” “No I’m not,” Crowley said grinning again, “and yes I would. Demon, remember?”   
Castiel appeared, arms full of ingredients for a spell. Neither the hunter nor the demon had noticed his departure during their exchange. “I have everything on the list,” the angel said, “let’s go.” Bobby looked at him in surprise. “Now?” he asked, “Oh. Yeah, of course.” He looked away, mildly embarrassed, and grabbed his down vest off his desk chair, sliding it on over his plaid shirt. Crowley looked him up and down. “We’ll that’ll do for our first date, I suppose,” he said winking. Bobby’s face returned to red, and his eyes darted to Castiel who seemed wholly uninterested in the banter. Crowley gave a smug smile to the hunter and motioned to the trap on the floor. Bobby leaned over to scratch the paint away, and the demon leaned around to check out his rear, and whistled lowly. “Nice,” he snickered. He was going to enjoy this little trip. Enjoy it very much.   
“Now,” said Crowley, tossing back the last of his scotch, “anyone have an archangel stashed anywhere? Or a Creator of the universe as we know it?” Castiel looked grim, “Not exactly,” he replied, “but I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, pairings keep almost happening! Totally without my permission! My love of the parallels between Bobby and Crowley is undeniable, though. Idjits.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more smut in the next chapter. I enter into some philosophical meandering here, but it's stuff I've been mulling over for some time.

It had been several days on the Appalachian Trail before Chuck finally had a vision that would help them find Sam. Dean felt bad for him, the guy had no booze to numb the headaches that accompanied the visions, and the best Dean could give him was ibuprofen. Chuck had a few visions prior to this, but mostly they were snippets of scenes with Lucifer (Sam) in various places, but not enough information to get a clear location.   
Their luck changed that morning. Dean was coming back from taking a piss and found Chuck on the ground, eyes rolled back and writhing in the dry leaves. Dean rushed to his side and held him from hitting his head repeatedly on the ground. When his movements stilled, Chuck opened his eyes and sat up slowly, blinking owlishly at Dean. Dean helped move him to a felled tree and propped him up. Chuck ran his hand through his hair, knocking out a few leaves and sticks tangled there. His already wild curly hair stuck up further, making him look more like a mountain man hermit than a prophet of the Lord. Dean handed him a bottle of water and waited patiently for Chuck to say what he saw. Chuck slowly and shakily drank the water until it was gone. They had been carefully rationing water, but Chuck’s seizures always took exception. He would be drained for hours after a big one like this. Dean would have to carry all the gear if they could even continue traveling right away, depending on how Chuck felt.   
Chuck took a deep breath and addressed Dean. “I saw your brother,” he started, and then had a coughing fit. Dean waited and patted him on the back. Chuck cleared his throat and continued. “I saw a tower behind him. I didn’t recognize it at first- there was smoke and the sky was black with it. Then it shifted, and I saw the devastation of the Chicago skyline.” He winced, clearly disturbed by what he saw, “All those people…” Dean gripped Chuck by the arms, pulling him closer. “Focus, Chuck,” he said, “it was a long time ago now. Do you know why he was there?” Chuck shook his head, thought for a second, then nodded. “I think so,” he said slowly, “he was gathering his army. At least it looked like it…” He looked at Dean sheepishly, and Dean smiled tightly and patted him on the back. “It’s okay, man, that’s plenty to go on.” Dean grabbed his pack and fished out the painkillers for Chuck, who took them gratefully. “We know he’s trying to break into Heaven,” Dean mused, “I’m guessing it’s happening there.” “It makes sense, really,” said Chuck, looking at the ground as he spoke, “There would have to be an enormous amount of souls trapped in the veil to be able to attempt to storm the gates.” Dean looked at him in surprise. Chuck shrugged, “You know, because souls have the most power of anything in creation?” Dean nodded in recognition. He had heard that before, that’s why demons made the deals they did. More souls equal more power. “So all the people who died in the hurricane in Chicago are stuck?” “Yeah,” said Chuck, “The gates are closed, Hell’s topside, so they’re packed in there, have been for years now. Anyone who dies gets stuck there, and imagine a billion vengeful spirits packed asses to elbows. It’s like a hundred nuclear reactors.” Dean took a long deep breath and laughed nervously. “Yeah, not a party I want to crash,” he said. They sat in silence for a few minutes contemplating this. Chuck’s already lined face seemed to crease more with worry and sadness. Dean had seen him with this look a few times before. It almost looked like...guilt? Dean didn’t know what the prophet would have to feel guilty about, except maybe knowing about all these things happening and not being able to do anything about it. Dean sympathized, he had seen so much death and destruction in his life that he couldn’t stop, and it made him feel helpless. “Hey, man,” Dean said, “It’s okay, you can’t save them all. But you can’t stop trying. There were so many near misses when I grew up on the road hunting. Somehow I’ve survived up until now. I don’t know why, I’m not special. But I know when I fail, and someone dies, there will always be someone else I can try and save.” He looked away, “There’s always someone else to save.” Chuck was watching him pensively. “You’re right, Dean,” he said, “I just feel so powerless sometimes. It’s like free will is curse- people use it to do such horrible things to each other. And then blame someone else for it. Sometimes I think it was a mistake.” Dean started chuckling. Then laughing, long and loud, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “What’d I say?” asked Chuck, starting to smile at Dean, then joining him in a few giggles. Dean finally got himself under control. “I don’t know, Chuck, my man. Sometimes you just have to laugh or you’ll cry. Team Free Will,” he said chuckling, “I think that too, sometimes. But it’s really a gift too, you know? It means no one is pulling my strings, that my choices are my own. No matter how bad they are. Sure, a little divine intervention would be nice sometimes, but I put faith in my family. Imagine being like those dicks, the angels. They’re slaves to the whole destiny thing. And look how that turned out! They thought they were so smart, so much better than us ‘hairless apes’ and their arrogance had them lose the war.” “That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” said Chuck thoughtfully. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of time to think,” said Dean. “But I’m thinking I made the wrong choice. Maybe I should have said yes and we wouldn’t be here.” “But Dean,” Chuck said leaning forward, “you weren’t _there_ to say yes.” Dean looked at him in confusion, “What? I had to have been there-” “You’re not thinking fourth-dimensionally, Dean,” Chuck said, “you came to this timeline, a pocket universe that was created in the event you didn’t say yes, and essentially you were missing from _your_ timeline, when you weren’t brought back by Zachariah, so you weren’t there.” Dean tilted his head at Chuck, “You did not just Doc Brown me, Chuck,” he said with a smile. Chuck shook his head, and looked up at the sky, little patches of blue scattered amongst the green of the trees. “I guess we should get moving,” Dean said, “It’s a long way to go, but hopefully we’ll get there before Lucifer takes on Heaven- we have to get him out of my brother before he charges up. It might be our only chance.” Chuck stood up and stretched his back, groaning, popping vertebrae. He scooped up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Dean stood for a moment, contemplating Chuck’s words. He had been so focused on his mission to find Sam that he had completely given up hope of going back to his own timeline. He pulled his pack on as well, and they continued on the trail toward D.C. 

Dean and Chuck walked in silence for several miles, with only the sound of their labored breathing between them as they made their way over rough terrain. They hadn’t encountered anyone on the trail, but Dean still kept a watchful eye. The sun had started to go down, and they needed to scout off the trail for a good camping spot. And forage for something to eat. Chuck was remarkably adept at finding tubers and edible plants. They had dried as much of the deer meat as they could carry, and Chuck had a pot that they used to purify water and make stew in. Dean had to admit adding greens to his diet had given him more energy and made his teeth quit feeling like they were about to fall out. They made a good team and went about the usual routine of setting up camp. Chuck wandered off, looking for greens or wild berries, and even ginseng which was everywhere up here and got them up and ready when Chuck made a tea out of it in the morning. Dean missed coffee but was happy to have that morning burst of energy. Chuck’s head bobbed in and out of the underbrush while Dean set the fire. He glanced up every once in awhile, tracking him so he didn’t get too far. He was protective of the little guy, he seemed so fragile. Dean knew he wasn’t, hell, he had survived long enough to find Dean way out here. That still baffled him how Chuck got this far. Had he crossed the desert like he had? He must have. Dean reminded himself to ask when Chuck came back. Dean looked up to check on him once more. He could no longer see his head or even the rustling brush around him. Dean stood up, looking in the direction he had see the prophet disappear, hand on the Colt at his hip. Nothing. He started slowly in that direction, stepping quietly over branches and leaves, listening for signs of distress. Chuck suddenly yelled Dean’s name, and the hunter was off like a shot, dodging under tree branches and jumping over logs. He came to the clearing where Chuck and stopped short, breathing heavily. Chuck was fine, just wide-eyed at Dean’s entrance. “Fuck, Chuck!” Dean yelled at him, “you scared the hell outta me!” Chuck raised his eyebrows and smiled at him, “Sorry about that,” Chuck said, “I just came a little further because I thought I saw some wild strawberries. But I think I found something more interesting.” Dean looked away from Chuck and finally surveyed the area. It was a small clearing in the woods, the grass short and fine, and the air fragrant with cedar needles. It looked like any other clearing with one exception. There was a wooden door standing in the middle of it. A green door with a brass doorknob. It seemed to be attached to nothing, just standing on its own. Dean walked cautiously forward and came to a stop about a few feet from it. It was a simple wooden door, nothing special. He ran his eyes over it and saw a small brass nameplate at its top. He frowned. He didn’t see that before. It was like it just kind of appeared. He leaned forward and squinted at it. _The Messenger,_ it said, in fancy filigree lettering. Dean leaned back and turned to look at Chuck who moved to stand next to him. “Weird, right?” Chuck said, “but it gets weirder.” “Weirder than a door standing randomly in the middle of the woods?” Dean responded, staring the door down, as if it would yield its secrets if he glared at it hand enough. “Look at the other side of it,” Chuck answered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which Dean missed. Dean walked slowly around the door, watching it carefully. When he got to its side, he could see its thickness, and another step and the door disappeared. Dean frowned and took a step back the other way, and the door reappeared. “Huh,” Dean said, “that is weird.” He continued to walk all the way around it and was stunned to see it was completely gone from the other side. He could see Chuck standing there, but Chuck couldn’t see him. Dean walked back around to the front and narrowed his eyes at the prophet. “What do you know about this?” He demanded, “It seems a little strange- you just happen to find some kind of magic door in the middle of nowhere. Tell me how you got to the woods in the first place?” Chuck’s eyes went wide again and he held his palms up in surrender. “N-no Dean,” he stammered, “I don’t know, it was just here.” He looked nervous and Dean immediately felt bad and apologized, “I’m sorry man,” Dean said, “I could just stand to have some normal shit happen for a while. This seems a bit above my paygrade, you know? Monsters I can deal with. Magic doors that appear and disappear in the middle of the woods? I’m not sure I want to mess with it.” Chuck nodded and waited. Dean eyed the door for a few minutes. What would be the benefit of opening it? Nothing good, probably. It could set them off their course and screw up their plans. But maybe it was something helpful? “The Messenger” didn’t sound very threatening. Maybe whatever it was could be helpful. Might be supplies. Maybe the door opened and there was just the forest there, where it was supposed to be. Maybe it’s a trick. Dean was starting to clench and unclench his hand on the butt of the Colt. His curiosity finally got the best of him. “Aw, fuck it,” he said to Chuck, “let’s just open it.” Chuck looked relieved for a split second and covered it with a determined look. “Okay..I’ll just…” he stammered as he walked to the door. Dean held his arm out to stop him. “Let’s do it together.” Chuck nodded and Dean drew the Colt, pointing the barrel at the ground.   
Dean reached his hand out tentatively and touched the knob. It was warm from the sun, and polished. He looked closer and could see intricate filigree on it as well, designs that swam before his eyes and settling on what looked like...candy? There were lollipops, peppermint swirls, and chocolate kisses. Dean flashed a look at Chuck and laughed nervously, “I think we found the way to Willy Wonka’s.” He cleared his throat and gripped the knob and slowly turned it.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It was like a camera in one of those documentaries where it was in constant motion, jiggling as it followed what it was shooting. It had a very dizzying effect. He blinked and adjusted his eyes. He realized they were looking through someone else’s eyes, and that someone was walking down a street, scoping out women in short dresses. There was no sound accompanying the images. There seemed to be an unusual number of very attractive women here, and all were smiling and winking at the owner of the eyes. Dean and Chuck watched as a tall blonde walked up and hands slipped around her waist. It was disorienting, her face coming closer and getting larger, then distorting as she started making out with whoever owned the eyes. She pulled back and licked her lips, giving a naughty wink. It all made Dean feel a bit uncomfortable. The blonde suddenly seemed to be getting shorter, and Dean realized she was getting on her knees in front of the eyes, and, yup, she was about to blow him. Dean groaned and looked at Chuck who had his nose wrinkled in amusement looking away. Dean kept his eyes averted, wondering what the fuck was this even about. “Hey Dean,” Chuck said, swatting at Dean’s arm, “look.” Dean frowned at him, “I am not looking-” Chuck rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, turning him back to the door. The eyes were looking down at the blonde, but she wasn’t really blowing him, instead of a penis, she was licking a blow-pop. Cherry. Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion. Then the image swirled and shuttered off, and there was nothing. Dean and Chuck looked at each other, Chuck shrugging. A new scene appeared, much more drab than the other. The eyes were looking at a wall, a gray crumbling wall, and the scene swirled to the left, making Dean dizzy for a second. The eyes looked down. Dean suddenly caught on. _Oh, it was a dream. This guy’s dream. I guess he just sat up._ The eyes looked down at bare, dirty feet and tattered pants. Dean and Chuck watched as he stood and walked over to a stainless steel toilet, then they both turned away politely as the man took a piss. After an acceptable amount of time, Dean looked back. The man was looking into a small dirty mirror, his face thin and sad. Dean squinted, seeing familiarity. He knew this guy. But he wasn’t entirely sure where. This guy looked like the shadow of a person, his eyes dull and broken. He had a good length of beard and his hair was long and shaggy, past his collar. The man rubbed his hands over his face and the scene shifted while the man reached down to splash water over his face. When he stood back up, it hit Dean who it was. The Trickster. The one that had killed him over and over. The one who put Sam through hell, over and over. Dean felt a spike of happiness at his pain. Just deserts , indeed. He immediately felt shame for that thought, the dude was clearly miserable. It appeared the guy was locked in some kind of cell. Dean and Chuck watched as the eyes snapped to the door of the cell, a pair of black demon eyes were peering through a small slit in the steel. The Trickster walked over and got only a few inches from the door, seeming to talk back at whatever conversation was happening. Dean wished there was sound so he could hear what was being said. Suddenly, two fingers came up and poked the black eyes sharply through the opening in the door. Dean chuckled as the demon put hands up over it’s eyes and backed away. The Trickster helpfully peered through the hole and seemed to be laughing, the way the picture was vibrating. The demon had hands pressed to his eyes and was shouting angrily. The laughing stopped abruptly, and the demon reached up a slid the opening shut. The Trickster looked at his feet and walked over and sat on the cot again.   
Dean turned to Chuck. “What do you think this means?” he asked. Chuck stepped closer, studying Dean’s face. “What do you think it means?” Chuck replied, “Do you know him?” Dean nodded slowly, looking back to the open door, “Yeah,” he said softly, “Sam and I had a couple of run-ins with him some years before the apocalypse. He didn’t look like this, though. He was…” Dean shrugged, “more alive. He could manipulate time and space, create worlds. He was into serving up ‘just deserts’ to people he thought deserved it. But this guy...he looks broken.” Chuck nodded sorrowfully. Dean looked back to Chuck, running his hand over his face, thinking. How was this guy a messenger? He supposed teaching lessons was sort of like giving messages. Sam had told Dean that the guy had tried to get Sam to see what life without Dean would look like. That he couldn’t save his brother from going to Hell no matter what he did and to just accept it. Dean had always wondered what the point of that was. What stock did a trickster have in him going to Hell? What business was it of his? Why did he care at all what Sam did, anyway? The guy could bend _space and time,_ why did he bother with the Winchesters? Dean hated not knowing, and he planned on asking the guy once he got a chance. _Space and time. Holy shit,_ Dean thought, _I bet he could help us._ “Hey, Chuck…” he started, “what do you think would happen if I went through that door?” Chuck tilted his head, thinking. “I guess we won’t know until we try it,” he said, “but I’m game. I don’t think we have much to lose at this point.” Dean nodded and looked back at the door. The Trickster was lying down again, staring at the wall. “Well shit,” said Dean, “It’s now or never.” Without waiting for a response from Chuck, Dean jumped.

********

 

Gabriel laid on his side, staring at nothing. He hadn’t felt a trace of his grace in days, and the very human condition of depression had settled in. He had experienced sleep (dreaming, what a trip!), hair growth (looking like fucking woolly mammoth now), needing a bath desperately (smelling like a Grateful Dead show), eating and being hungry (for things not candy, and not candy sucks), and the end result of eating. Fucking disgusting. So far dreaming was the only thing he liked, and it was a pleasant escape from the pain of this stupid reality, in this stupid cell, on this stupid planet. He tried to sleep as much as possible- it sometimes felt like the old days. He could control what was happening sometimes, and it was a relief. Then everything would go wonky and he’d end up with a sucker for a dick or some such ridiculousness. His vessel hadn’t adjusted very well to human life. Granted it was old as hell- he picked it up a few centuries before he made the permanent move to earth, placing himself in witness protection. He skipped town when Dad did, and they parted ways on good terms. He missed Him terribly, He was the only one in the universe who got his sense of humor- clearly he inherited it from him. Dad would come up with the most ridiculous things: the duck-billed platypus, Rush Limbaugh, Mississippi.   
Gabriel’s vessel’s back hurt. Like really hurt. He had no idea being human was so physically painful. And that isolation would make him so lonely. He _has_ been technically alone for centuries, creating his own companions and places to be, and except for his short affair with Kali, he was pretty happy. But this. This was torture. He was alone, but with no grace. He couldn’t conjure up a breath mint if he tried. 

It had started off with the warding in the cell. It was surprisingly strong, and it kept him from flying out. He wasn’t sure how they got him in there, but he was sure his brother had something to do with it. Luci said he just wanted to talk, but really he wanted to recruit. Gabe had laughed in his face and told him to suck it and go to Hell. The joke was apparently lost on him, because he threw Gabe in a cell. And came by every day to see if he had changed his mind. But his position remained firm. He would not take sides, he couldn’t. As his grace drained from his body, and angel radio went quiet, Luci started making promises about being able to restore his power. He said he had resources, all Gabe had to do was agree to fight by his side. As an equal. Gabe wasn’t an idiot, even if he had agreed to the proposal, Luci would turn on him like he did everyone else. He would end up in the cell anyway, so why not skip the middle and get some naps. It was way less work, and work was for suckers. Luci’s visits were short, but Gabe could see his grace slipping away too. Not that the dick would ever admit it. He’d come by in that stupid white suit, looking like fucking Tom Jones, but in a cuter meat suit. The one bright spot in all of this was getting to see the littlest big Winchester- a friendly face from the past. He would sometimes imagine he could see Sammy in there, peeking out. He had even tried to talk to him, past Lucifer, but it earned him a beating from some of the grizzly bear-sized goons Luci kept around. They were idiots, but Gabe’s vessel wasn’t as big as his mouth, and had a really hard time keeping it shut. The big idiots just left themselves open for the best scathing sarcasm, even if it was over their heads. But the beatings had left him feeling more powerless, and bruises and bleeding that hadn’t healed for weeks. 

He knew if he lost hope, he would die. He had considered suicide for a moment, but what was the point of that? If he ended up in Hell...well, that didn’t change a damn thing. If he ended up in Heaven, he’d be stuck with those douchebag older brothers, and he would exchange one cell for another. The jerks would lock him up for leaving in the first place, to make an example or something. He was still mad at them for giving up and going home, shutting the gates and leaving him stranded. That and a billion or so humans stuck (crammed) in the veil. Selfish assholes. He still had the tiniest sliver of hope left. Sometime after he realized he wouldn’t be leaving the cell anytime soon, he started praying to his Father. It brought him comfort, even if never got a response. He knew when his Dad left Heaven to go live amongst the humans he gave up some things, and tried to interfere as little as possible. He had once said that intervening over and over had generally made a bigger mess of things, and how could he answer the request of one devout man over another. So he gave people an out. Forgave all the sin in one fail swoop, and exited stage left. He wanted to let free will work on its own, to let people make their own choices, make their own destiny. You could write a book with the amount of intervening his Dad did in the early days- when he was still trying to control a creation that was created to be uncontrolled. You had to appreciate the irony. Now people used the dumb rules from the old days to try and control one another and as an excuse to hate each other and justify killing. Gabe found that most humans feared what they didn’t understand, and fear so easily turned into anger, then hate. Lucifer had a lot of influence in the old days, and after Dad and Mikey threw him in solitary, people went on doing wicked things, using their God-given gift of free will to hurt one another. And then blame a devil who was locked up. Or blame God for evil people using their free will to hurt them. No one wanted to take responsibility for their actions, and evil ran free.   
There were good people though. Gabe had had a blast in the early days of his freedom, playing Loki and making a career out of fucking with humans who worshiped him like a deity. But ultimately, it left him feeling empty and purposeless. He was built to do his Father’s work, but that translated poorly to life on earth. He ended up finding himself in the position to help a woman who had been attacked by several violent men, and he felt a flicker of joy when he smited the evil men. She had been so grateful and was able to live her life in peace. He was thrilled and wanted to do it again. But it would probably attract too much attention, and he didn’t need to get dragged back home with the assholes who actually thought about humans the same way as Lucifer. Jealous as hell. So Gabe set up shop getting revenge on evil humans who hurt others with their free will. They deserved consequences, and he taught them a lesson if they weren’t too dumb to understand. And good people deserved a chance at a happy life. 

Gabriel sat up, sliding until his back was against the wall. He was so bored. This wouldn’t be nearly as bad if had something to do. Or someone to do. But there was a serious lack of volunteers. His charms were lost on the demons, but he wouldn’t touch one of them with someone’ else’s dick anyway. 

_Ugh. That’s gross._

Gabe straightened up. There was someone else in his vessel. “Say something again,” he said.

_Um...hi?_

“Great,” snorted Gabe, “I’m finally losing my mind, and the voices in my head use one-syllable words.”

_Hey! I’m here trying to help you._

“How do I know that,” Gabe asked, crossing his arms.

_I don’t know- just I am, okay? Do you want to get out of there or what?_

“How do I know you’re not one of my brother’s stooges?”

_I’m not...look. I know who you are, I can hear you thinking. Archangel in disguise? Huh. You probably don’t remember me, but you killed me like a hundred times once just to fuck with my brother? You know, the one who’s being ridden by your brother...wait, that doesn’t sound right…_

Gabe laughed and clapped his hands, “Dean motherfuckin’ Winchester!” he exclaimed, “how are you, how’s the fam, why the fuck are you hitchhiking in my noggin?”

_I’m not really sure-_

“There’s a shocker,”

_-I think I need to help you so you can help me...or something like that._

“And why would I help you?” Gabriel asked smirking.

_Jesus Christ, you asshole, do you want to get out of there or not?_

“Keep your panties on, Dean,” Gabe responded, “ _why_ do you need my help?”

There was silence for a moment. Gabe waited.

_I need to get your brother...out of my brother._

Gabriel howled laughter, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. It felt good to interact with someone. There was a reason to hope after all. 

_Are you done? Because we need to get the show on the road, like pronto._

Gabe smiled a genuine smile in for what seemed like decades. “Okay, what do I need to do?”

Silence again. Gabriel began to get nervous that Dean had left him, thinking he must still be pissed about that whole killing him thing. 

_Chill, I’m just trying to figure out how this thing works. Um...stand up._

Gabe stood up, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

_Open your eyes, I can’t see anything. And for the record, I am still a little pissed about the ‘whole killing me thing.’_

Gabe opened his eyes and grinned. “Okay, what now.”

_Turn around._

Gabriel squinted skeptically. “Just turn around? I’m pretty sure I do that all the time, and nothing interesting happens- unless you count me facing the other wall.” 

_C'mon, just fucking turn around!_

Gabriel rolled his eyes and spun around on his heel. To his surprise, there was a door behind him, and woods beyond it. A body was lying on the ground next to it, and he looked closer and yup, that was Dean. “Now what?”

_I guess just walk through it?_

“Okay, here goes,” Gabe walked forward a few steps, not knowing what to expect, and found himself stepping through to the soft ground of a clearing surrounded by forest. The fresh air hit his lungs like a wave, and he nearly swooned at the dizzying sensation clean oxygen had on him. It felt so good. He looked at the wide open sky, blue and peacefully clear. He closed his eyes and listened to the birds and vibrations of the woods around him. Vibrations. Some were louder than others. Familiar, comforting. He turned back to look at the door he came through- it was just showing the woods behind it. Most likely was a one-way portal, now used up. He looked down at Dean’s form. He had his eyes closed, but was only sleeping-the trip must have worn him out. Not Gabe though, he felt energized. Alive for the first time in so long.   
He breathed deeply and let it out, the tension melting from his vessel’s sore muscles. He heard a throat clearing behind him. Gabe whipped his head around. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his mouth dropped open. Chuck smiled sheepishly and waggled his fingers in hello. “Holy shit!” Gabe exclaimed, “Literally!” Gabriel ran the few feet between them and jumped into his Father’s arms. Chuck wrapped his arms around him, cradling Gabe’s head and hushing him as he began to cry. They stood there for several moments until Gabe got himself under control.   
“Why-” started as he pulled back to look at Chuck’s face, “why…” He couldn’t seem to get a whole question out. Cuck patted his arm and nodded his head. “I know. Look, we don’t have much time before Dean wakes up, and I need to keep him in the dark a little bit longer if I can.” Gabe nodded, eyes still wide and unbelieving. “I brought you here, like Dean said, to oust Lucifer from Sam’s vessel and try to fix the timeline.” Gabe closed his eyes and smacked his forehead with his palm, “Oh of course,” he said, “I knew something was screwy, and for once it wasn’t me doing it.” Chuck nodded, gripping Gabe’s shoulder, “I know you’re pretty much out of juice, and I’ll try to give you what charge I can, but I’m cut off from Heaven too, and I have the reserves of my power stored there, and I have access as long as the doors remained open. If I walked around here with all that mojo, I’d most likely nuke half the world when I sneeze.” Gabe’s face cracked into a smile, tears still shining happily in his eyes. “And,” Chuck continued, “I gave explicit instructions to Michael to keep those gates open- in no way should they ever be closed or the results would be catastrophic.” “Apocalyptic, even,” Gabe grinned at him. Chuck huffed out a laugh, “I see what you did there,” he chuckled, “but now, of course with impeccable timing, the angels got a clue to start exercising free will of their own and started disobeying my orders.” “Yeah,” said Gabe, “that was kind of a dick move.” Chuck nodded, “We have to get Lucifer out of Sam-” he held up a hand so Gabe wouldn’t make another joke, “-and let him hop into another vessel- he has one on ice somewhere- and let him break into Heaven.” “Ah, I see,” Gabe said, starting to get the whole picture, “then we’d have the collective juice to jumpstart the timeline Dean came from, erasing this giant failure.” Chuck chuckled again and mumbled in a mocking tone, “You’re a giant failure.” Gabe grinned again, “Your face is a giant failure,” he shot back. “Your mom’s face is a giant failure,” Chuck was really starting to laugh, Gabe right with him. It felt really good to have him back, if only for a little while. Gabe sighed happily.   
“I guess you guys have met,” grumbled a voice behind them. Dean was rolling over and attempting to stand up. He groaned and stretched his back. “What the actual fuck-” his words morphed into a yawn. “So what happened? We good?” Chuck and Gabe nodded in unison. Dean raised an eyebrow but seemed to shrug it off in favor of complaining about his back and prodding the other two to go back and build camp before the sun set. They started off through the woods, Chuck stopping every few feet to gather some things for dinner.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta get a message through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, just moving along the plot etc.
> 
> I swear to Chuck there's smut in your future. The smut fairy will deliver it and leave it under your pillow. Possibly overnight. 
> 
> My editing was crap on this, just be warned.

Castiel watched Bobby and Crowley have another staring contest. It was getting pretty ridiculous. They had been at the entrance to the falls for about twenty minutes, arguing over the best way to set the spell up. Castiel was ready to smite them both out of frustration, but he still needed them to complete the spell. He took a steadying breath and stepped forward between them. “Bobby,” he said, “I know it pains you that someone could know more about spells and sigils than you, but I think we should let Crowley help determine where to set up the location spell.” Bobby narrowed his eyes at the angel. He was already in a bad mood, and no matter how much he apologized, Bobby wouldn’t firgive Castiel for the bumpy landing causing the hunter to fall into a large patch of poison ivy, face first. I was about an hour before he realized his mistake- by then, Bobby’s face had swollen to twice it’s size. Of course Crowley found this to be very funny, and wouldn’t stop poking fun even long after Castiel healed it. The angel suspected that Bobby was more angry about looking like a fool in front of the teasing demon than for the rash itself, but Castiel had had enough of it.   
“There’s no way in hell,” said Bobby, “that I’m going to trust _him_ to get his hands on these ingredients. He could royally fuck us over, you know. I’d think you’d have more sense than that-” “And I keep telling you,” Crowley bit back, “I have just as much invested as you, so I don’t need you to trust me. I just need to make sure you don’t muck about and waste the spell and draw unwanted attention to us. If Lucifer knew I was with you, he’d pull my teeth out through my arse, and I’m not keen to find out how!” Bobby looked taken aback. He huffed a breath and mumbled something. Crowley leaned forward, cocking an ear to him, “What was that, I didn’t catch it.” Bobby looked up at the sky with his hands on his hips, and sighed. “I said, fine, we’ll do it your way.” Crowley smiled smugly, “Now that wasn’t too hard was it, love?” he crooned, making Bobby scowl even deeper. He moved to the side and allowed Crowley look over the items they had brought.   
They were standing at a rock overhanging a rushing pool of water. The trail to the main waterfall runs alongside a narrow creek that flows in and out of the earth. It would flow swiftly for a few hundred yards, then disappear underground for several hundred more. Then it would flow back out between giant boulders of limestone scattered about the creekbed. The falls they were positioned in front of flowed down from a thirty foot rock overhang. The water had carved a cave in the bedrock over the millennia, causing a wide, lazy pool to form. The water was fairly shallow, and flowed to the back of the cave and disappeared into a large hole back into the ground. The water swirled down into the black depths of the earth, before emerging again a half mile further down the trail.   
The demon Crowley had busied himself in a clearing near the falls, drawing a sigil and laying objects around it. A silver bowl was in the center, and he filled that as well. Castiel pulled Bobby over for an aside. “When the spell is done, if he shows, it stands to reason the we let the demon go,” Cas said, “I would rather him not be here when we try and use the portal.” Bobby looked back at Crowley quickly, and leaned in closer to the angel. “But what about the picture?” he asked. Castiel gripped his arm and growled, “That is hardly of import at this time. We have bigger concerns than your hurt pride and fear of your hunter friends’ homophobia.” Bobby’s eyes got wide as he spluttered out, trying to form a response. “They’re not homophobic,” he finally managed, “it’s because he’s a demon!” Castiel rolled his eyes, looking over at Crowley who was watching them and smirking. “Boys,” he said, “if you’re done with your hen pecking, I’d like to get started. I feel very exposed out in the open like this.” He looked at Bobby and winked, “wouldn’t want anyone to see us together, it would ruin my reputation.” Bobby’s scowled and grumbled, “idjit,” under his breath. Crowley stepped to the side to let them take a look at his work. It seemed to be in proper order: Bobby gave him a nod in affirmation. Crowley held out a knife, “One last thing and we can pull the pin on this, lads,” he said, giving the blade to Castiel, “I’d like to get back to my party. I have guests waiting, after all.” Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled almost inaudibly, “Hate to think what kind of party it is.” Crowley raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know Bobby Singer.” Castiel had stepped over to the silver bowl, slicing across his palm, dripping into it. After a considerable amount was given, he healed his hand and stepped back. He looked at the other two, then flicked his finger, sparking the bowl, causing a bright flash of light. Castiel waited. He turned back to the other two, but nothing happened. Bobby shrugged his shoulders, and Crowley slowly took a step back. “Well boys,” he said, stepping back again, “seeing as this may have not worked, I will gladly take my leave of you, and remember, if you ever need anything, and I do mean anything,” he looked pointedly at Bobby, “please don’t hesitate to fuck off.” Crowley smiled a tight smile, snapped his fingers and disappeared.  
“Well that’s just fucking great!” Bobby yelled, “the spell didn’t work and he left before we even got to see if the dadgum portal works.” He sighed heavily. Castiel stepped forward and glared at the sigil and the blood, trying to figure it out. “The portal is operational- I can feel its vibration. I can sense it. It’s rather loud, actually.” Bobby nodded and sat down and took his flask out.  
“Don’t give up guys, I’m sure you’re on the right track,” came a voice from the darkness of the cave. Bobby jumped up. “That’s not the can-do attitude this country was built on,” it said, “well it was actually built on the backs of enslaved minorities, but hey! At least they’re getting their fair shake now. Oh. No they’re not.” Bobby had jumped up and pulled his gun and knife. Castiel simply turned and stood still. The owner of the voice sauntered forward out of the shadows in the dusky light. “Gabriel,” Castiel said, clearly relieved, “thank you for coming.” “Not like you gave me much choice, baby bro,” he shot back with a smile on his face, “I popped in several minutes ago, but I just wanted to wait until the used car salesman left.” “Who, Crowley?” Bobby spoke up, looking confused. “Ding ding ding we have a winner!” Gabriel smirked, “I don’t want anyone to know I’m alive, thus the cheshire cat act.” Castiel walked to him and they embraced briefly. “Cassie, baby bro,” Gabe said, disapproving look on his face, “dealing with demons, my my if Dad could see you now.” Castiel frowned, “Desperate times, brother. I suppose you want to know why you’re here-” Gabriel flapped a hand at him dismissively. “I know why I’m here,” He pressed his lips together eyebrows raised, “Luci and Mike are gunning for a showdown, so some middle-management idiot got some ideas about stacking the deck, left a vessel in another dimension, and now we are in a pocket timeline and you need to get back to the future before Arnold Schwarzenegger shows up and smashes your Delorean?” Castiel cocked his head, “Okay I only understood about half of what you just said, but yes, I need to return to the vessel in question...because he is Michael’s true vessel,” he lied, not knowing how much Gabriel knew or if he would approve of Castiel consorting with Dean. “Oh Cassie,” Gabriel sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “what’s his name?” Castiel dropped his head and looked at his shoes. “Dean. His name is Dean Winchester.” Gabriel cocked an eyebrow, “He any relation to that tall drink of water Luci’s been romancing?” Castiel nodded. “But he’s missing from this timeline,” Gabe concluded. Castiel nodded again. Gabe sighed and put his hand on his brother’s arm. “And…” he continued, “you need me to try and fix this so you can get back to lover boy, don’t you.” Castiel looked him straight in the eye, “Yes, brother.” Gabriel clapped his hands together and smiled. “Alrighty let’s get to it!” Castiel sucked in a breath, “You’ll help?” he asked. “Easy there big guy, don’t celebrate just yet,” the archangel said, “I have to get my counterpart in that timeline to be on the other side of this portal so I can push you through.” Bobby, who had been staring at the two with his mouth open finally spoke up, “You can do that?” he asked, impressed. Gabriel turned and smirked at the hunter. Instead of responding, he held up his hand and snapped. Bobby was gone. “What did you do with him?” Castiel asked, fear in his voice. “Relax lil’ bro,” Gabe said, “I sent him back to his bed, belly full of good scotch, and no memory of me. Gotta keep a low profile. Besides,” he paused looking at the sky, “if we can pull this off, it’ll be like this never happened.”

Castiel watched Gabriel sit on a rock in full lotus position with his eyes closed. Cas was curious on how this had anything to do with the mission. “Bro. Chill. I got this,” Gabe said without opening his eyes. Castiel watched as his brother’s grace started to glow a warm gold. It grew in intensity and heat, and tendrils of grace reached out like fingers to the waterfall and disappeared down the hole into the portal. Cas watched the tendrils brighten and dim and slowly withdraw. Gabriel’s grace shrank back into himself and he stood and stretched, cracking his back. “Okay,” he said, “I got the message through, now we wait.” Castiel nodded, and sat on a rock and stared in the direction of the falls. Gabriel snorted, “Want to have some fun while we wait?” he asked. Castiel looked at him apprehensively. Gabriel pulled a sucker from his pocket and popped it in his mouth, “You like blondes or brunettes?” he asked around the candy. Castiel grunted and turned back to the water. “I’d rather wait here,” he said. Gabe shrugged, “suit yourself,” he said, plunking down on the rock beside him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam in fishnets

_Gabriel sat in a red velvet couch at the end of a runway stage. A spotlight came on and two long legged women, one blonde and one brunette, strolled onto the stage. The blonde wore a black corset and fishnets, the brunette wore red. Gabriel was dressed in red silk boxers and nothing else, and was holding a large box of caramel popcorn, stuffing handfuls in his mouth. He grinned up at the two women, and they smiled back seductively as they strutted and gyrated to bad hair metal music._ Cherry Pie _was blasting from the dj booth, echoing around the otherwise empty room. Gabe tilted his head back, eyeing the women. He held up his hand and snapped his fingers. The brunette started to get taller and shoulders broader, breasts shrinking into hard pectorals, smile dimpling and eyes going hazel. The red panties grew a bulge, and Gabe smirked. The brunette dancer was now the spitting image of Sam Winchester, twerking his perky ass and looking over his shoulder at the archangel. Gabe looked at the blonde and snapped his fingers. Now he had two Sams, both strutting in high heels toward him, twin wicked looks in their eyes. Gabe motioned them to come sit on either side of him. The blond Sam had his tongue in Gabe’s ear, while the brunet Sam was stroking his thigh, hand wandering up to the erection in his boxers. The archangel groaned and dipped into the brunette’s mouth for a filthy kiss._  
_”Whoa buddy,” came a voice from the stage. Gabe’s head popped up in surprise as he saw himself standing up there looking at him, knowing smile on his face. “I knew we thought Sam was hot, but damn, we really get worked up over this giant,” the new Gabe pointed down at his own erection and grinned. Gabriel (with Sam’s tongue still in his ear) narrowed his eyes at the newcomer, and shrugged. “Well,” he said, “this is a new one, but I guess it’s okay to join in, this could be interesting.” The new Gabe laughed merrily, and shook his head, “Naw, I’m not here for that. I got a message for you.” Gabe on the couch now had brunet Sam’s hand down his boxers, lazily stroking his cock. He looked up from where he had turned back to put his tongue back in Sam’s mouth, and his eyebrows shot up. He held up his hand and snapped his fingers, freezing the Sams in place. He carefully extracted brunet Sam’s hand from his boxers and stood up, erection bobbing slightly. New Gabe jumped down and leaned against the stage crossing his arms. Gabe in his boxers crossed his arms too, smirking slightly, “You’re not really me,” he stated, “but you are, aren’t you?” New Gabe smiled and rolled his eyes, “We always were the smartest guy in the room. Now listen,” he said, “we don’t have much time. I’m from the alternate timeline fuckery and I need your help to drag our little brother Castiel through this portal thingy so he can help get shit straightened out.” The other Gabe nodded his head and chewed the inside of his lip. “Got it,” he said, “how is Cassie doing now? I haven’t seen him in years.” New Gabe chuckled, “Yeah, I think he’s boinking the other Winchester brother,” his face grew serious. “I need you to get to Tennessee, a place called Virgin Falls, near Sparta,” he directed. Other Gabe was already shaking his head, “No go, compadre, my grace is no bueno, I’m cashed out,” he replied, “can’t fly anymore.” New Gabe frowned deeply at this news. “Wow man, they got you fucked up over there,” he said, “you’re going to have to do it the old-fashioned way, I guess. Are you able to locate Dean Winchester from where you are?” Other Gabe nodded excitedly, “Yeah he’s sleeping like five feet from me right now,” he clapped his hands in glee, “and guess what else, Dad is here!” New Gabe’s eyes widened in shock and his mouth dropped open. “Is he okay, what’s going on? Where are you?” he asked. Other Gabe looked quickly around the room and saw everything getting blurry. He was close to waking up. “Looks like we don’t have much time,” he said, “but Dad’s fine, just not a lot of juice because our dickhead brothers closed the gates. He probably can give me enough to pull Cassie through, though. I’ll get us to Tennessee ASAP, It might take a few weeks, but we’ll get there.” New Gabe nodded, “Damn you’re worse off than I thought,” he said, “do what you gotta, the timelines don’t run parallel anyway. I’ll be there when you get there.” His form started becoming blurry as well. Gabriel stared at himself and closed his eyes._

Gabe opened his eyes and focused at what was in front of him. The campfire was low, and Dad was asleep. Dean was propped against a tree, holding the Colt, head lolling, trying not to fall asleep. Gabe slowly sat up and stretched. The ground was hard, and he was reminded of his human body and how he hurt all the time. “Dean,” he whispered, “Dean wake up.” Dean’s head snapped up, “I am awake,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. Gabriel rolled his eyes, but didn’t want to argue. He gave the hunter the long and short of his dream (leaving the part out about Sam, he didn’t feel like getting punched in his weakened state), and they decided to wake Chuck. They still had Dean in the dark about Chuck’s identity, but Gabe knew the time was nearing when they’d have to let the cat out of the bag. Gabe thought it was hilarious that his Father was wary of how angry Dean was going to be when he found out. But for now they had to pack up and hit the trail again. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut
> 
> I'm sure there are lots of editing mistakes. But there's also dirty happy fun times. So I'm sure it more than makes up for it.

They had been camping and hiking the trail for what seemed like weeks. Dean was moody; as much as he enjoyed having company on the road, the archangel’s presence was starting to really grate on his nerves. At least Chuck had some useful skills- he could hunt, start a fire, forage for edible plants, and was really adept at purifying water. In fact, Dean wasn’t even really sure how Chuck did it. He would just bring back creek water that seemed to boil quicker than when Dean did it, and it cooled to a drinkable temperature faster. He had such a keen eye for finding and cooking plants and tubers, that Dean actually enjoyed meals and felt full and satisfied afterward. He felt stronger than he had in years. Chuck had proved himself to be an excellent companion and asset on the trail. Dean knew somehow that he wouldn’t have survived without him.  
Then there was Gabriel. He was lazy, he complained, and he seemed to have no survival skills except dodging the occasional flying fist from Dean when he crossed a line. The guy had been around since the beginning of time, but he couldn’t tell the difference between harmless oak leaves and poison ivy. Dean was pretty sick of hearing him complain about the rash on his asshole from taking a dump and wiping with the wrong leaves. The hunter was secretly happy after it happened, thinking Gabriel deserved it since he had found Dean’s stash of beef jerky and ate all of it. But then he had to listen to him complaining about his itchy ass for days after. He kept his mouth shut about it as much as he could, after all Gabe was going to be the one to pull Cas back, but Dean was starting to doubt what the archangel had told him. He was the Trickster, after all, and Dean was putting trust in someone who let the air out of all of Baby’s tires at once. But Chuck seemed to have absolute faith in him, and would smooth Dean over every time Gabe got under his skin. Chuck had a very calming affect on Dean, and could easily manage Gabriel’s emotional outbursts. It was strange how close those two were, and sometimes Dean would get a pang in his gut thinking about how easy it was with Sam- having family with him. Someone who understood him and all his faults, and loved him- not in spite of his flaws, but because of them. Dean could see that something like that existed between Chuck and Gabe, but there was no reason Dean could see why that was. When Gabe came through the door and joined them, Dean was aware they had some sort of connection, and they explained that when Chuck was being protected by Raphael when he was writing the gospels, he had met Gabriel, but they were pretty vague on the details. But Dean supposed bonds could be formed from unusual circumstances, so he didn’t think too hard about it. If Chuck trusted Gabriel, then Dean would put up with him. Not so much trust him as tolerate him. But he was annoying as fuck, constantly asking personal questions about Sammy until Dean threatened to throw him off the mountain somewhere in East Tennessee. Gabe had relented, but then took to teasing him about Cas, until Chuck intervened and pulled Gabriel aside. Dean didn’t know what was said, but the archangel was on his best behavior when they returned. But it didn’t last for long.  
Chuck had estimated that they were about another day’s hike from the Tennessee River, which they would have to cross by way of Knoxville. There had been a lot of argument about this- Dean didn’t want to go straight into a city that was most likely overrun by croats. Chuck patiently explained that there was no place to cross that wouldn’t take them several days of travel out of the way. Gabriel piped up that maybe they could get a car or something, because he was tired of walking. There was also a possibility of gas stations that might have supplies (and candy for Gabriel if it meant he would just fucking shut up about it), and Dean started to cave. He secretly craved being behind the wheel of a vehicle, even if it wasn’t Baby. It had been way too long. He was starting to lose the tentative hold on his sanity, so the quicker they got to Cas, the better. His dreams were growing in intensity, and he could feel the angel out there somewhere, and needed to… He would wake up sweating and sometimes crying, and he couldn’t stand the way Chuck and Gabriel would look at him, sympathy in their eyes. It made him want to smash things. He finally surrendered and let Chuck take the lead on navigation, and was content to hang back and let him- he very rarely let someone else be in control of a situation, but he trusted Chuck, and needed the break. His mind was tired from the strain of being away from Cas. He realized he needed him like water, and had taken to wearing the worn and tattered trench coat, and ignored the looks he got from Chuck, and threatened to choke Gabe if he said anything. He had found the small bundle of dried fragrant roses in the pocket and held on to them, pulling them out to sniff them every once in awhile. The smell calmed him. Not that the smell was Cas’ smell, but it was something Cas picked up from the witches for no particular reason, and it made Dean feel close to him.  
When they finally reached I40 West to Knoxville, it was getting dark so they looked for a spot to hole up in until the morning. There were a few empty gas stations near the exit, but they opted for one further down the road, as to not attract attention. They wouldn’t risk a fire, so dinner would be whatever they had leftover from other meals and what they could scavenge. The gas station they chose was covered by thick kudzu growth, so much so it was barely recognizable as a building from the road. If it wasn’t for the rusting gas pumps, they would have walked by it without noticing. Chuck and Gabriel chopped away at the kudzu vines while Dean scouted the perimeter with the Colt. They had seen some croats a few miles back, but they seemed sluggish and vacant. Their bodies were decomposing as they walked around, and Dean ganked then without much effort. It was looking more and more like the earth was trying to reclaim itself from Lucifer’s tight grasp. Gabe’s theory about Lucifer losing his grace seemed to make the most sense- the croats being less of a threat being an example, as well as evidence of nature taking almost a stranglehold where there was once scorched and barren land. They hadn’t seen any demon signs for the month they had been hiking, but the consensus was that the demons had probably gathered in Chicago for Lucifer’s attempt to take down Heaven.  
Dean had asked Gabriel if he knew of any way Lucifer would be able to break in, and he had just shrugged and told Dean that it was possible if he found one of God’s weapons on earth, but no one really had a line on where any of those missing items were. Dean had seen Gabe and Chuck exchange looks, but Dean decided to ignore it. He had the current mission on his mind, and that was all he could handle thinking about.  
Dean walked around the gas station building, wishing he still had a machete, tripping over the vines twisting along the ground. He had the Colt drawn and pointed at the ground, eyes open wide and ears perked up. It was all clear, so he joined the other two to search the inside. They were rewarded with canned food items and cases full of room temperature beer and wine coolers. Dean broke into a wide grin as he tore open a box of Pabst and tossed one to Chuck. He was in such a good mood, he grabbed Gabe a sixer of Strawberry Hill wine coolers. Gabriel was delighted and thanked Dean around a mouthful of gummy bears. The archangel promptly opened one and dumped a whole box of Nerds in it. Dean almost gagged at the sight- too sweet for his blood. He wondered how long it was going to be before Gabe was going to start getting cavities and diabetes.  
The three spread out their bedrolls in the storeroom on top of piles of broken down boxes. It was soft compared to the forest ground, so Dean curled up, buzzed and warm, and fell asleep early. The other two remained out by the register sitting in actual chairs with their feet propped up, knocking back a few and talking and laughing quietly. 

_Dean opened his eyes. The forest floor he was laying on was soft and the air clear. He could hear the rushing of water, and the echoed sound of water dripping. A cool breeze filtered through the trees which had started to change color from bright summer green to fall colors of gold and orange. He stretched out his arms to relax further, and his hand bumped something. Well, someone. He turned his head and met blue eyes, the same blue eyes he dreamed about every night. Cas had a light smile on his face and his hair stuck up in its normal fashion. Dean brought his hand up and ran his fingers through Cas’ hair and cupped his jaw and brought his head forward to lightly brush their lips together. Cas’ eyes fluttered closed and he made a breathy sighing noise as Dean touched their lips a second time, adding his tongue to tease Cas’ lower lip. Cas automatically opened his mouth and dipped his tongue into Dean’s. It only took seconds before Castiel had pushed Dean to his back and pinned his wrists above his head. He was plundering Dean’s mouth almost desperately, and Dean responded with moans and uncontrolled thrusting up into Cas’ body. Cas ground down on Dean’s erection, causing Dean to break the kiss to gasp loudly. He looked up at Cas, who was leering at him hungrily, his pupils blown wide and his lips slick with saliva. Dean groaned and slotted his knee between Cas’ to get better friction. Cas moaned and ground down again. He brought the hand that wasn’t holding Dean’s arms down to Dean’s belt, and he fumbled it open while ducking down to suck possessively at Dean’s neck. He mumbled between kisses about too much clothing being in the way, and suddenly there was nothing between them except slick sweat and precome on their bellies. Dean made noises in the back of his throat, silently grateful for Cas’ angel abilities in his dreams. Cas kissed open-lipped down Dean’s torso, stopping at his nipples to bite and suck, marking his chest. Dean writhed under him, his hips arching up on their own accord, and making desperate noises. Cas let go of his arms, but Dean still held them still as Cas moved further down his body, licking and sucking. Cas was biting his inner thighs, and stroking his thumbs in circles on the soft place beside Dean’s hips. Cas raised his hand to Dean’s mouth with a silent command to suck, which Dean did enthusiastically. Cas groaned against his thigh revelling in Dean's tongue swirling around his slender digits. He took his hand back and slid it along the crease of Dean’s ass, lightly teasing his hole. Dean was groaning and thrusting his hips down, tryin to get Cas to sink his finger in. Cas looked up at Dean with hooded eyes, slowing licking on his lower lip and flicking it out to lap up the fluid beading on Dean’s cock. Dean shivered and tried to hold his hips still as Cas wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock, inching his way down, bobbing, taking a little more each time. Suddenly, Cas swallowed Dean down, simultaneously pressing his middle finger deep into Dean’s hole, crooking it to brush his prostate. Dean shouted out and moaned loudly. Cas continued to suck and thrust, adding a finger, and nailing Dean’s prostate unexpectedly. His other hand wandered down to stroke his own length. Dean had pulled his knees up and spread as wide as he could, reaching between them to grip the angel’s hair and hold on for dear life. He felt so close to the edge and tried to pull off Cas’ mouth in warning, but Cas growled around his cock in answer. Dean wasn’t sure he could last any longer when Cas’ hand shot up from his own erection and stemmed Dean’s orgasm at the base of his cock. He withdrew his fingers from the grip of Dean’s wanting hole, and watched, fascinated, for a few seconds as it gaped open and shut on its own, begging for Cas to fill it. Dean was whimpering now, looking at Cas with desperate eyes, grabbing at him with shaking fingers. Cas grinned a predatory smile and loomed over Dean. The hunter hooked his knees with his arms, up to his chest, exposing his hole to Cas, presenting and greedy for his touch. Cas leaned down and licked a wide stipe around Dean’s opening, missing it by millimeters. Dean hissed and begged with noises and saying please, trying to get him to do it again, and begging to be penetrated. He had to be- he needed Cas inside him, pounding hard and fast, making him cry out in ecstasy, coming inside him. Cas teasingly licked the rim of Dean’s hole, thrusting his tongue in and out, leaving Dean a shaking mess and his hole slick with saliva. Cas sat back up and spit in his hand, slicking up his cock. Dean almost came at the sight, this was by far the hottest dirtiest sex he’d ever had. He watched with breath held as Cas circled his hole with the head of his cock, then pushing down, breaching him, then swiftly sliding in until his balls were resting against Dean’s flesh. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Cas ground down with his hips, causing a surprised gasp from Dean. He slowly pulled out, almost to the tip, and slammed back in, causing Dean to move backward a few inches along the ground. Dean held his hands above his head again, braced on a boulder protruding from the ground behind him, giving Cas leverage to push his hips higher, pounding into his prostate. Dean felt as if he would explode any second, and he bit his kiss-swollen lip trying to prolong his impending orgasm. Sweat was rolling down Cas’ face as he breathed raggedly and slammed in and out of Dean’s tight wet heat. Dean’s cock was slapping on his belly, dripping obscenely. Cas sped up and thrust harder and Dean was too far gone to hold on to the edge anymore, and he came, screaming Cas’ name and painting them in come, some hitting his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. Cas kept up his pace, throwing Dean’s left leg over his shoulder, getting a new angle. Dean waited for it to get uncomfortable, but the pleasure just increased, his cock going hard again in seconds, he stared up at Cas in wonder, and horsely shouted out as the almost debilitating pleasure pushed him over the edge, making him come again, with less fluid running over his chest this time. Cas saw the fluid leave Dean’s cock then stiffened, pounded once more, filling Dean up with slick hot come, with a litany of profanity and Dean’s name intermingled falling from his lips. Cas collapsed onto Dean, smearing Dean’s semen between them. They panted into each other’s mouths for several moments before Cas lapped a splatter of Dean’s come off his chin. Dean pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting himself and moaning and panting. Cas pushed up to look at him, gently touching his face and whispering over and over, “beautiful, so beautiful.” Dean didn’t want it to be over, he wanted to stay here forever, he wanted to lie here forever in Cas’ arms basking in his love. He felt real and alive for the first time in so long. He bit his swollen lip again to keep from sobbing. Cas shushed him, pressing his mouth to the corner of Dean’s and whispering to hold on, it won’t be much longer, they were getting closer now, just hold on…_

Dean woke with a start, the dream still lingering in his corneas. He had had several sex dreams about Cas in the past few weeks, but this was over the top. He looked down at his crotch and ran his hand through his hair whispering, “fuck.” He had jizzed in his pants like a damn teeneager. He looked around in the dark, but sighed in relief; the other two were still in the other room drinking. He realized almost no time had passed, and sat up all the way to rummage in his pack for some pants. He had picked up a pack of boxer briefs when they stopped at a dollar store in one of the one-horse towns they passed through. He slipped out of his sweatpants and mopped up the mess the best he could. The musk of his orgasm was in the air, and he looked for a window to open before the others came to bed. He hoped they would be too drunk to notice, but it was likely Gabe would notice anyway, and tease him relentlessly about it. If Chuck noticed, he would stay politely quiet and encourage Gabe to shut up. It didn’t matter. His legs were too wobbly to stand up anyway. Dean was feeling an overwhelming sense of loss- that was the most realistic dream he’d ever had, but Cas couldn’t dream walk here, could he? He wasn’t even in the same dimension, right? Dean pulled up the covers again, forgetting about the window, and closing his eyes. _I came twice? What the fuck, how did I come twice?_ he thought as he drifted off again. 

 

********

Castiel pulled back from the portal with his grace. He was exhausted with the effort- Gabe had been kind enough to help propel him farther through to find Dean to bring him a message. Unfortunately, he was unsure his message of _don’t worry, you’re almost there_ might not have gotten through due to the spontaneous intercourse they had. Castiel was a little blown away by the experience, it had felt so real. He was unsure at first if he would be able to communicate, but Gabe was able to locate his counterpart and therefore Dean, and had found a moment in the timeline when Dean was asleep. Cas had been so anxious, and his brother was kind enough to help him form the bridge then disappear so Cas could be alone to communicate with Dean. Cas was very grateful for Gabriel, he had been so helpful and seemed to really care about him. It was unusual for Cas to experience such support from his family; the others had been so critical of everything he had done. He could remember from the other timeline where he was harshly punished by his superiors, even subjected to reprogramming, for bonding to Dean when he pulled him from Hell. He had physically been linked to him, was drawn to him and stood as close as possible to the hunter, and the other angels had noticed. They had noticed how he stared longingly into his green eyes. He thought he had been careful, had held back so much, but they saw everything. He was chastised for it, but it didn’t change how he felt. At one point, he had agreed to the reprogramming because it was the right thing to do- he needed to be the good little soldier of God, but Uriel’s betrayal had broken his resolve and he sought out to save Dean, to be near him. To touch him. Cas shuddered thinking about touching Dean in his dream, running his hands over his body, how willing and pliant Dean was. Dean trusted him wholly and completely and it made Cas’ heart hurt to be away from him. He felt the first touch of relief in so long when he dreamwalked Dean, but now he was left empty and alone again. Cas sat down on the rock again and curled into himself. Gabriel would be back soon, so he waited and prayed. If what Gabe said was true, and their Father was with Dean, he knew everything would be okay, but the waiting was killing him. 

********


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So ok. I just watched 11.20 and I just. I can't.
> 
> So I'm rolling around on the floor sobbing happily, and also giggling at how I'v managed to stay in the right lane in my story here. I'm so fucking over the moon. 
> 
> So no spoilers in case you haven't seen it yet. 
> 
> BOOM GOES THE CANNON

Gabriel was fucking done. Just done. He was ready to strangle Dean the first chance he got. If Dad wasn’t watching every little move he made, he’d do it too. He’d trap Dean in some ridiculous fantasy world if he had his grace. But he didn’t so he couldn’t. Instead, he had to practice all the patience he could, merely for Dad’s sake. Sammy’s sake too. He honestly had no idea how the two brothers could be related. But then again, Mikey was like Gabe’s polar opposite, so it stands to reason that the annoying turd could have a beautiful, kind, brilliant, super sexy giant for a little brother. Gabe wanted to climb him like a tree.   
The older Winchester was doing a craptacular job of navigating, and seemed to want to argue about literally everything. Gabe was sure he’d fight a lamp post if he thought it looked at him wrong. The jerkoff was being super critical of everything Gabe did _(well excuse the fuck outta me, I’ve only been human for two years, but you’ve been an asshole your whole life),_ and took every chance he got to belittle his survival skills. Gabe thought he was doing just fine, he had survived this long, right? He told Dean that he was seriously overlooking Gabe’s more admirable attributes, like his sense of humor and his sexy booty. Dean however, didn’t think it was funny and took off ahead of him and Dad, who basically stayed out of it (as usual) and rolled his eyes at the banter. Gabe yelled something about Dean being sexually frustrated not being an excuse to act like such a fucking dickweed, so Dean shot him the finger without turning around and kept walking.  
“Why do you have to aggravate him?” asked Chuck, “It’s stressful enough without the two of you at each other’s throats.”   
Gabriel opened his mouth to spout some sort of _he started it,_ but it died on his lips as he saw the weary look in Dad’s eyes. He sighed and threw an arm around Chuck’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Pops, I’ll try to be civil for your sake, but you have to admit he’s being kind of a douche, right?”   
Chuck said nothing and continued walking. 

Knoxville was disturbingly empty. The streets were in ruins like everywhere else in the world, but it seemed vacant as well. Dean tried every car he found on the way in, but most had either been burned or stripped for parts. He clearly was getting frustrated, acting like a giant baby every time he tried and failed to hotwire one of the rusting hulks of metal. Gabe did his very best not to say anything, but instead starting following Dean’s example and checking every car- there were more the closer they got into the city. He didn’t know how to hotwire, but fortunately for Gabe, most had keys in them. They looked like they had been abandoned while running, so most likely they didn’t have gas anyway. They started only checking parked cars after that.  
Finally, Dean hopped into a passenger van in the pull-thru at a senior center and it fired right up. Gabe cheered, and was promptly reduced to scowling when Dean shushed him angrily. There wasn’t anyone around- Gabe didn’t see why he had to be such a jerk.   
They loaded all their gear and headed west again. Dean took the first turn driving, which meant Gabe and Chuck had to hop out and move cars every few hundred yards or so. Most were easily put into neutral and rolled out of the way. Gabe was pretty put out about the whole arrangement, since the backseat bench was clearly calling his name. Even if it smelled like old people. A nap would be perfect,but apparently he would have to earn it first.   
After few hours and lots of complaining and arguments with Dean, Gabe got his wish and laid out across the seat and happily took a snooze. No sexy fun time dreams about Sam, but he was too exhausted to care. 

Gabe woke up as they pulled off a state route into a parking lot. He looked blearily around as Dean put the van into park. Gabe was surprised he was allowed to sleep as long as he had. He was sure he would be forced to reveal that he didn’t know how to drive at some point, but he warranted that Dean was happy with the quiet time. Gabe scrambled to the front of the van as Dean hopped out and slammed the driver’s door. Chuck was snoring still, and Gabe shook him gently to wake him. He was starting to be really concerned about his Dad. It was scary to look into the eyes of the most powerful being in existence and see how weary he was. Gabe realized how badly Chuck needed his power reserves- he was looking sickly. Chuck had given up a lot of his strength to heal Gabe and strengthen his body after being imprisoned for as long as he was. Gabe felt a little guilty (that was new) and wanted to hurry this whole little project of saving the world so his Dad would feel better. Gabe himself could do with a little grace charge-up too. He missed his teeth not hurting when he ate candy.

Dean was already heading down the path, Cas’ trench coat flaring out around him as he walked. Gabe and Chuck had to hurry to catch up. Dean had the Colt pulled out, Gabe held the demon blade given to him by Dean (who threatened to use it on him if he ran his mouth), and Chuck his usual knife, nothing really special about it.   
They reached the falls within 4 hours, taking frequent breaks to let Chuck catch his breath, and to listen and scout to make sure they were really alone. Gabe stuck close to his Father, giving him drinks of water as they went.   
They came to a curve in the trail. The sound of water rushing increased, and Dean held his hand up to stop. Gabe looked up and listened too. He could hear voices over the sound of the falls, someone was already there. Dean motioned for the other two to follow him off the trail so they could approach from the East, and catch whoever it was by surprise.  
The voices grew louder, and Gabe could hear 5 distinct voices chattering. It could just be some other apocalypse survivors like themselves, but no human would be so cocky as to be this loud and not have a lookout stationed at the trail. It had to be a creature of some kind. Gabe lifted his nose and scented the air. Human or not, his senses were still superior to most. He smelled water, moss, earth, 34 minerals in the earth, the green trees around them, and...sulfur. Lucifer must had sent some sentries to guard the portal, which meant he was aware that it had been used recently or knew they we coming to use it. Otherwise these jokers would be in Chicago. He whipped a hand out to grab at Dean, who looked back with his brows up. Gabe mouthed “sulfur” to him, and Dean nodded slightly. He motioned for them to split up to take them from different sides, Dean from the front, the Colt would keep them distracted, Gabe from above and east of the waterfall, and Chuck at Dean’s rear, acting as back up. They stashed their packs and eased their way through the underbrush, with the sound of the water covering up their approach. Gabe made his way up a small incline, stationing himself out of sight behind a rock to await the signal from Dean. All he had was the Demon blade, but he still had excellent hand-to-hand skills, and he anticipated a quick and bloody battle. He slowed his breathing, an unusual surge of something was rushing through his system, making his heart rate increase. He identified it as adrenalyn, and knew it would be handy once the action began.   
Gabe peeked around the rock as soon as he heard Dean’s voice shout out. He jumped out and slid down the hill to join in the fight. A demon to his right came at him, taking a swing. Gabe ducked and shoved the demon knife into its gut. He could feel the surge of energy as he pushed the demon’s vessel off him and ran to join Dean and Chuck. Dean was wrestling with a blonde-haired demon and she was trying to get the Colt out of his hands. Chuck was neatly dispatching a male demon with his blade, hiding the fact he was laying a hand on him and exorcising the demon. Dean didn’t see it happen, but the demon he was wrestling did. Gabriel watched in slow motion as she wrenched the Colt away from Dean and aimed and fired it at his Father. Dean screamed out and fell back, kicking out at her, causing her to stumble before she could fire again. The world seemed to stand still as Gabe watched his Father clutch his chest and pull his hand away with blood on it. A silver tendril of light was seeping out of the wound. Gabe finally willed his feet to move and sprung from his perch. Another demon was lunging at him, grabbing at his shoulders. Gabriel, archangel of the Lord completely lost his shit. The demon knife glinted as it slashed through the air. He stabbed and sliced his way to his Dad, in a matter of seconds. The demon holding the Colt was so surprised by the swift, violent attack, that she faltered and Gabe dove toward her, stretched high in the air, his face contorted in rage and vengeance. He buried the blade in the top of her skull, sparks flying as she burned out, falling to his feet. Dean was staring at him from the ground, stunned at what he just saw. The raw intensity left Gabriel as soon as it had hit him, and he slid to the ground by Chuck, pulling him to his chest and hushing him. Chuck smiled at him wanly.   
“Dad, holy shit, how bad is it?” Gabe asked, “Why aren’t you healing?”   
Chuck grimaced and smiled up at his son. “It’s okay, I’ll be okay, we just need to get Castiel here. I’m pretty tapped out.” He smiled, blood staining his teeth, smile turning into a cough.  
Gabriel gently brushed Chuck’s hair back, anxiety etched all over his face. “It’s my fault, isn’t it, Dad,” he whispered, “if you hadn’t felt the need to power me up, you’d be okay, I’m so sorry.” He hung his head, tears running down his face.  
Chuck shushed him gently. “Hey now, it’s okay, big guy, I’ll be okay. And it’s not your fault, there’s something else draining me. It’s coming from the portal. Please get the spell together and pull Castiel through and we can fix this, I promise.”  
Gabriel looked at his Father lying there, looking so vulnerable. He reluctantly stood, after arranging his jacket under Chuck’s head. He turned to address Dean. The hunter was still sitting on the ground, the Colt in front of him in the dirt, eyes wide and glassy, with his hand over his mouth. He seemed frozen in place and was looking vacantly at where Chuck was resting.   
“Dean,” Gabe said sharply, “snap out of it. We still have work to do.” Dean blinked rapidly, trying to deal with what he just witnessed. He stood slowly, hands shaking, staring at Chuck.   
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Gabe, “now that you’re caught up, can we please get on with this? You’ll have plenty of time to ask questions and get all pissy about everything later, right now we need to pull your boyfriend out, or there will be no later.” Dean nodded slowly, seeming to be in shock, but stood anyway, shaking his head then taking off quickly to grab their packs with the ingredients for the spell.   
Gabriel started clearing the ground to draw out the sigils, working fast and diligently, trying to focus on the task at hand, and glancing back at his Dad every few moments. He seemed to be okay for now, but Gabe needed him back. He felt more emotions pass through him at once than he even thought possible. _How do people even live like this? Feeling so much all the time. It hurts._ He was still drawing when Dean appeared with the supplies, dumping the packs out in a pile and riffling through them quickly, pulling out things as Gabriel called out for them. His eyes kept darting to Chuck, and he stood and pulled off the worn and dirty trench coat and went to lay it over Chuck’s body and tucked him in. Chuck smiled up at him and said thank you. Gabe watched this out of the corner of his and was struck at how relieved he was that Dean was taking this so well.   
Dean and Gabe placed ingredients around the circle in silence. When the silver bowl was set in the middle, Dean held his hand out with his knife poised to cut. Gabe stopped him.  
“No offence, Deano,” he said wryly, “but we’re going to need something a little stronger than that.” Dean nodded wordlessly and handed over the knife. Gabe held out his palm over the bowl and cut a long slice across it. He hissed at the pain, knowing he wouldn’t be able to heal it instantly anymore. He felt a longing for his grace. Dean handed him a handkerchief to wrap his hand with, and they stepped back.   
“What now,” Dean croaked, then cleared his throat.   
“Now we wait, I guess,” shrugged Gabriel, “My counterpart should be able to feel us through the portal now and will build the bridge with his grace to push Cassie through. Maybe we should move to the back of the cave so we can catch him? I think that’s what we have to do?”  
Dean’s eyebrows shot up, “you think?” he asked, “What do you mean you _think?_ ” His voice was starting to get a little hysterical.   
Gabe threw his hands in the air and started sloshing through the shallow water to the back of the cave. “I don’t know, it’s not like I come out here and do this once a year or something,” he shot back, “I’m just going off what Dad told me, and even he hasn’t used this portal before.”   
Dean snorted. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he was definitely yelling now, the sound echoing off the rock walls.   
Gabriel turned back to him, hands on hips speaking through gritted teeth. “If I were powered up right now I would smite the fuck out of you, you little shit,” he ground out, “But I’m not, and I would like to do this before my Dad out there keels over and we all blink out of existence.”   
Dean started, blinking at Gabe. “I-I thought the Colt couldn’t kill him,” he said softly, “there’s five things it can’t kill, and I’d always assumed that was the four archangels and...God.” He said the last word in a choked voice.   
Gabriel turned and waded forward again, and kept moving, shouting to be heard over the water. “Yeah, but if you hadn’t noticed, he’s super weak right now, and something about this portal is making him weaker, so we need Cassie to come through and fix this.” Dean said nothing but hurried to catch up with him.  
There was a quiet vibration that Gabe had heard even from the parking lot. Here it was deafening. The air around the hole where the water was disappearing into the earth was wavering like a mirage. They watched as it began to glow, turning a violent blue, and Dean had to shield his eyes. They watched as it bowed outward, toward them, threatening to burst, and a hand reached through. Gabe grabbed out to it, but cursed when he saw his arms were too short. Dean nudged him to the side and grasped the hand, pulling hard. There was a moment where it looked like he wasn’t going to break the blue bubble, and it stretched to Dean and he ground his teeth and closed his eyes against the brightness. There wa a loud pop and a rush of air, causing Gabe to fall into the shallow water with a splash. He caught himself from being submerged, and saw Castiel come through, falling onto Dean and the both of them landing in the creek too. The portal shimmered and the ground began to vibrate. Gabe watched as a crack started at the base of the cave and shot up to the ceiling, spreading out in a spider web over it. He shouted over the din, but Castiel was already reaching for him, pulling him and flying to the dry bank where Chuck was.   
Castiel sucked a breath in and looked down at Chuck, wordlessly. He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers, pulling out the amulet. It glowed a faint blue. Chuck blinked his eyes open and focused on Cas.   
“Hey Cas,” he said, smile playing on his features. “How ya been?”  
Castiel knelt down to him and his hands hovered over his form, not knowing where to put them. “Father,” he breathed in awe, “Father, what can I do?” He handed the amulet off to Dean without looking at him, his eyes fixed on Chuck.   
Chuck held out his hand to Cas, palm up. “If you could just patch me up a little, I’ll be okay, I promise.”  
Castiel nodded and took his Father’s hand with shaking fingers. A blue light glowed softly at first, then grew in intensity until Castiel warned Dean to cover his eyes. Gabe watched as the blue light emanating from Cas’ grace bloomed outward and washed over them all. Gabe closed his eyes and breathed it in, feeling a twinge of jealousy. He hadn’t felt grace in so long, and he missed it. He opened his eyes and Dad was already standing, embracing a kneeling Castiel. Cas was gripping Chuck’s jacket and crying softly into it. Gabe glanced over at Dean who was staring at the amulet in his hand. It was glowing brightly. Dean looked up at Chuck, who smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders. Gabe couldn’t take it any longer, so he launched himself at Chuck as Cas stood up and practically tackled him into a hug. He bit back tears as his Father embraced him tightly. He felt like things might actually work out for them now. 

 

********

Castiel’s head was spinning. When he had felt fingers tightening around his own, there was a surge of reconciliation happen in his mind and Dean was decidedly real, and something was released in his chest. When he was pulled through, he threw himself at Dean, pushing them over into the water. Dean squeaked out when they fell, then chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Cas pulled back to say something, but he felt the earth jolt and could see the portal trying to collapse on itself. He had pulled them out (Gabriel too, but he was decidedly human which was confusing), and was hit with a wave of recognition as he turned to the man on the ground covered in what looked like a dirty version of his beloved tan coat. Castiel’s eyes widened impossibly, and he went to his side. It was Chuck the prophet, but it wasn’t. He knew him. Or knew Him. It was his Father but something was wrong, he was dying. That shouldn’t be happening. He did the best he could to patch him up, removing the bullet from his heart and pushing as much of his grace into him as he could. He would have given all of his grace if his father hadn’t stopped him, squeezing his hand and silently telling him it was enough. Cas could feel the grace depletion in his system, remembering this timeline was where the gates were closed and he wasn’t going to be recharged until they fixed that. He wondered if Gabe and Dean understand how bad Chuck was doing, and not just by being shot. Something else was off; he could feel it when he was repairing the vessel. Something was trying to split inside him.  
After Gabriel’s tearful display, Cas turned to Dean. The hunter was staring at him with such open affection it made Cas’ heart lurch. He took the four steps it took to get to Dean and stood toe to toe with him, getting as close as possible without touching him. As usual. Dean broke into a grin and breathed his name out, pulling him to his body to slot their lips together, sighing into his mouth. Cas gripped him tight, clutching the handprint under Dean’s shirt, moaning at the contact, marveling at how _real_ it all was. The amulet still hung from Dean’s fingers, glowing brilliantly blue. They pulled apart to look at each other, and Dean smiled and put the amulet around Cas’ neck. It pulsed and the light dimmed and disappeared. The two looked at Chuck who had a silly grin on his face. He shrugged, “I can turn it off, you know. That’s why it didn’t work before. Sorry Castiel,” he said sheepishly.   
Cas nodded slowly, his breath catching. He was so happy to see his Father again. But he needed to know something. “Father, what’s wrong? I felt...something. It was pulling you apart. What is it, I want to help.”   
Chuck was nodding, looking at his feet. “Yeah, that.” He scratched his head and rolled his neck a bit. “It’s because of the diverging timelines. It’s imperative we get to Sam and Lucifer and break open Heaven. Once We’re all powered up, I can undo all this crazy AU nonsense.”  
Cas cocked his head. “AU?” Chuck shook his head, “Nevermind, we just need to put Dean back to the point in time where he was left here by Zachariah. Then he can go back to dealing with the apocalypse and decide his own course of action.”  
Dean finally stepped forward with his brow furrowed in worry, “But can’t you just stop it all from happening? Can’t you just stop Lucifer or something? Lock him back up?”  
Chuck looked at Dean sympathetically. “I’m sorry Dean. But what was it again? Team Free Will?” Chuck smiled knowingly, “You have to decide for yourself. Nothing is really written stone. Well, like ten things were written in stone but that was like a long time ago,” Chuck ran his hands through his shaggy hair and patted Dean on the back. Dean frowned but remained silent.   
Castiel knew what Dean was worrying about. He reached out and gripped Dean’s hand, squeezing tightly. Dean squeezed back and gave him a sad smile.   
Castiel cleared his throat. “Father,” he said, “would you like me locate Lucifer so we can finish the mission?”   
Chuck sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I think we might need a rest,” he said, looking at Dean and Gabe who seemed exhausted.   
Castiel nodded and pulled Dean to him again, resting the hunter’s head on his shoulder. Dean melted into his body, and Cas had to support his weight. “Dean and I will find accommodations nearby, and I will come back for you.”   
Dean held his head up long enough to give the Colt to Gabe. “Cas, can you take them to the van? It’s probably safer there.” Castiel nodded and helped gather the leftovers from the spells and flew them to the van with a touch. For an instant, he thought he caught a glimpse of his Father’s true form, and he saw Gabriel’s eyes widen slightly too, but they landed and he went back to looking like a tired novelist. Castiel exchanged looks with Gabriel and then flew off carrying Dean. 

They landed at the first motel Castiel found, knowing it would be abandoned. He took Dean into inside and set him down in a chair so he could survey the room. The bed looked very dusty from disuse, and smelled of mildew. Cas put his hand up and cleaned the room. He looked at the wall, seeing through to the room next door. It had two beds, so he cleaned it too. He was starting to feel the wear on his grace, so he decided to try and preserve it. He helped a very sleepy Dean to the bed and took off his boots and socks. Dean flopped back with a moan. Castiel looked down at him for a moment, and was hit with a wave of emotion. Dean reached out his hand and stroked down Cas’ arm. He looked into the hunter’s bleary eyes, and leaned down and kissed him gently, chastely. Dean attempted to pull him down but Cas shushed him and told him he needed to go get the others. Dean nodded and closed his eyes, smiling blissfully. Castiel considered removing his jeans so he could sleep more comfortably, but he knew where that could lead, and he really needed to talk to Gabriel and his father first. 

Castiel landed beside the van, and gently knocked on the window. Chuck sat up from the reclined driver’s seat and nodded at Castiel, rolling down the window. Castiel told him where the motel was and suggested they drive so he could preserve his grace. His father agreed, and Cas climbed in. He could hear Gabriel snoring loudly from the back, and shook his head- his family being so _human_ was so disorienting. He gave instructions to the motel and they pulled out of the parking lot. 

They drove in silence for a mile or so, Chuck behind the wheel, concentrating on the road. Castiel regarded him for a moment, then settled unintentionally into staring. Chuck huffed a laugh.  
“Something on your mind, son?” He asked, glancing over for a second.  
Castiel smiled at the use of “son,” and cleared his throat. “Father, I felt what’s happening inside you right now. You seem to be pulling apart at the seams. My healing didn’t fix it, what are you going to do? How can we fix it?”  
Chuck glanced at him again, and shrugged. “Best I can figure, the separate but newly created timelines are tearing at space-time continuum. The things that exist in one dimension should not exist in another. When it happens, it threatens the tightly woven construct of the universe, and even I can’t simply put that back together. I have to figure out what the things are that have unintentionally crossed over. It started when Dean was brought here, creating this alternate universe, one that wasn’t supposed to ever exist. Then you were brought,” Castiel cringed visibly. “No, no son, that’s not your fault,” Chuck reassured, “this was the doing of the angel Zachariah on Lucifer’s behalf. I’m guessing Luci saw his opportunity to take advantage and stacked the deck. Which means he somehow knows this isn’t going to end in his favor. So he’s cheating. ‘I win. So I win?’ Prideful little shit.” It was Chuck’s turn to grimace.   
Castiel listened intently, racking his brain, trying to figure out a solution. “So,” he said slowly, “when Dean and I return to our timeline, that will take care of it...but you think there are other things that were carried over?”   
Chuck nodded, looking guilty. “Yeah your respective timelines.”  
Cas paused again, thinking. “What about my coat?” he asked suddenly, “could that be a problem?” Chuck nodded again, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror at the coat which was currently covering Gabriel.   
“Yeah like that,” he said, “two of the same objects existing on the same plane of existence war with each other. The same way it was hard to reconcile the non-existence of Dean versus the existence of him in your timeline.”  
Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Hold on,” he said, “what do you mean ‘respective timelines?’ I thought we came from the same timeline. I have the memories of leaving him and being in the desert with him? And dying…”   
Chuck ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, about that,” he said, warily, “technically you were put into the alternate universe where Dean was never created- making the other version of you obsolete. The version of you that fell into the chasm merged with you and doesn’t exist. This you was transported from a universe that should have never been created, so that’s where you would return. And you somehow have the memories of the other Cas. That’s why you felt as if you were splitting in two. Honestly I’m not even sure how that could happen.”   
Castiel looked more confused than ever, but took the words carefully and analysed them. If he were to go back through a portal, he would land back with Bobby and John in 2009. And Dean wouldn’t be there. He didn’t want that to happen.   
Chuck continued, “The best thing that could happen would be to put Dean back at the time when you are waiting for him to sleep. And keep you from getting kidnapped. That should do it.”  
“Wait,” Cas interjected, “you’re saying that if I wasn’t taken, none of this would have happened? It’s my fault? If I had just come to Dean early, everything would have been fine? If I hadn’t waited out there with a giant target on my back?” He was wringing his hands looking imploringly at his Father.  
Chuck reached out his hand and gripped Cas’ shoulder. “Hey, hey! Don’t do that to yourself, this isn’t on you. This is on Zach and Lucifer. Even I didn’t see this one coming. For Christ’s sake, I was hoarding toilet paper like it was precious jewels.”  
Cas’ eyebrows shot up at the touch and the blasphemy. Father sure had changed. Being on earth this long had really made Him human, and not just physically. Cas decided to talk this over with Dean when he woke, because he knew what it would do to him. They would go back to just being friends, not remembering what they had gone through together here.   
Chuck squeezed his arm once more and withdrew his hand sighing. “I know,” he said ruefully, “It would mean you and Dean would have to find your way to each other again. But don’t worry. There’s a reason I chose you to save Dean from Hell, Castiel. It was meant to be.”  
Castiel looked at him with wonder in his eyes. His Father chuckled, “Don’t look so surprised,” he said, “all I’ve ever wanted since I left was for the angels to have free will too. I gave it to humans and realized my mistake with my first children. I figure you would all catch on eventually. And most did- Gabe back there being my best example. Lucifer didn’t go so well, he was so angry and made his choices, and with all choice comes consequences. But most of the angels refused to believe they could have their own will too, that they had the capacity all along. Geez, Michael was running things the way he _wanted,_ not the way he was ordered. Oh, yeah I didn’t give him any orders. And he did okay for a while. But I guess I underestimated the depth of the daddy issues I created. I didn’t prepare you all well enough for a life of freedom. That’s my biggest failing to you.”  
Castiel sat through the whole speech with his mouth open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but it made sense. It also sounded like an apology, which Cas was thunderstruck by.   
“But,” Cas said quietly, “you brought me back. I was destroyed...in your house? And you remade me. Why?”  
Chuck yawned. “Whew,” he breathed, “I am bushed! So tired- can’t wait to take a ridiculously long nap.”  
Castiel knew that wasn’t an answer, but decided not to push the issue. He had enough to think about already, and he just wanted to get back to Dean. He needed to feel him under his fingers and and hold him and revel in his _realness._

They pulled up the motel, parking the van in the back. Once Chuck and Gabe retired to their own room, Gabe grumbling about his wet clothes and wanting a shower and some chocolate, Cas left them to go to Dean. The hunter had found his way out of his shirt and jeans and was curled up in bed, covers pulled to his chin. He looked so beautiful that Cas had to remember to breathe. The angel shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket, followed by his shoes and socks. He hesitated, but took off his slacks and shirt too. He felt oddly naked, but when he slid in between the sheets with Dean, the feeling of _rightness_ was almost overwhelming. Castiel wrapped himself around Dean’s form. Dean arched back into him, pushing a leg back between Cas’. Cas closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in the warmth and the knowledge that even his Father blessed this union, and this was home.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a light smattering of Lucifer/Rowena here, but I assure you it's not enough to warrant a tag. 
> 
> My editing is crap and this was a hard chapter to squeeze out.

Lucifer looked out over the teeming mass of demons below him. They were talking excitedly among themselves, rumors flying, wicked smiles flashing, eyes glittering black. Lucifer wrinkled his (Sam’s) nose in disgust. They stank. All of them. Worse than humanity. But there was comfort in that smell, it was predictable and marked the ones he had the most power over. They saw him as their father and ruler and he could manipulate and manage them. They lived in fear of him snapping his fingers and vaporizing their vessels. He actually did this quite often, just to keep them on their toes. They knew if he killed them, there was no Hell to go to, so it was lights out for them. They would cease to exist. Lucifer smirked at the irony of beings who were already dead fearing death so much.  
The plans had been set, he had his officers in place, waiting for the right moment to strike. Lucifer had spent years hunting down some of God’s weapons and hadn’t had much luck. He had a few secure vaults scattered around the world, but quite a few of them had been pillaged when they were excavated for construction by humans. After several recovery operations, the demons had only brought him disappointing news. The final vault project was deemed most difficult, seeing that it involved demolition of the Parthenon and drilling about a mile underground. It should have been easy for Lucifer to accomplish, but with the drain on his power, he couldn’t attempt to fly into it on the off chance he get stuck and have to ask his subordinates for assistance. Then the rumors of his loss of power would be confirmed. So in the guise of planning an attack on Heaven and drawing up schematics for the “expansion,” he had the demons do all the work, therefore it had taken longer than he had anticipated.   
He was sitting in a makeshift throne room in the Sears Tower, which had been reduced to only 68 floors by a cyclone some years prior. It was a perfect position to see the comings and goings of the demons and monsters-for-hire in his employment. He figured it was time to call in favors owed by the witches, and out of all the beings, they were the most loyal. Sure they were scheming and devious, but they were the _right_ kind of evil, and still looked at him more with adoration than fear. While the demons had been created through systematic torture in Hell, the witches had been rewarded their powers through ritual sacrifice and consorting with demons. Which was a choice. Lucifer despised them as much as anyone else- they _were_ human once, after all- but they were more trustworthy. And after the loss of Ruby, he was feeling lonely. Rowena had come back with news that Dean Winchester had killed his pet Ruby, and he had managed to escape with the ex-angel Castiel. The witch had told him of Ruby blabbing about Lucifer’s plans in too much detail to the hunter, and he was seething over it. He had managed to keep Dean Winchester busy for a few years, putting him on the trail of that turncoat angel, Zachariah, but word was that the hunter finally killed him, and now Lucifer had to worry about the oldest Winchester and Castiel showing up on his doorstep. Bringing the angel Castiel here from 2009 had been Zachariah’s idea- that ass had swore that the hunter and the angel would keep each other occupied- with some sort of spell that bound them to a location isolated in the desert. Zachariah had swore it would be successful; he told Lucifer that Dean Winchester and Castiel were already lovers in 2009, but he was beginning to think that pompous angel was overselling it.   
He felt the twinge of fear for the first time since his creation. It was unfamiliar, and he knew it was due to his weakened power. In this state of vulnerability, it might be possible for him to be killed. The flow of souls being brought to him was dwindling, and he was beginning to feel physical sensations in his vessel. 

It was sometime after midnight when he got the call. A team of demons, with the aid of a few Greek vampires, had broken into the final vault. Lucifer was pulling his hair out while waiting for news of what had been discovered. They had suggested he fly overseas to come look at it for himself, but he barked back that he was too busy and they needed to bring their findings to him. The demons quickly apologized and assured him they would be there as quickly as possible. His anticipation was killing him- also a new feeling he was forced to experience. 

His first commander, Rowena, was by his side catering to his every whim, as usual, but he was growing suspicious that she was plotting against him. It had only recently come to light that she was the crossroad demon Crowley’s mother, and he knew he could no longer count on her loyalty. He had imprisoned Crowley some time ago, and Rowena swore she had no feelings toward her son (except contempt), but Lucifer knew her kind- she’d hitch her wagon to the winning team to ensure her own survival every time. 

Rowena glided through the room gracefully, head tipped back, her red hair falling down her shoulders, and wearing a condescending smile. Lucifer’s hand twitched. He wanted to smash her face in, ending that look she gave him, but he resisted and smirked back. She came to stand beside him, and delivered the news. The demons had found the usual scrolls and artifacts, but the one piece that might be of interest to him was the three-foot slender trumpet of gold. He hid his relief and kept his face passive and bored. He waved a hand at her and ordered that it be brought to him to see if it would be of any use. As soon as the room cleared, he sat in his make-shift throne and put his head in his hands in relief. This was really good news. They had found the horn. Gabriel’s horn, the instrument his little brother used when he would herald news to someone chosen to receive the Word of his Father himself. It was a very powerful instrument, and using it to call the gates open was going to be so much easier than breaking them down. It would probably be disorienting for the angels to hear the horn- they all believed Gabriel to be dead. They might just fling the gates open without the need for subterfuge. The gates being open even for a short time would allow his grace to return and he could split. Then he wouldn’t have to stick around to see the angels vanquishing half the demon population. They were disposable anyway. 

He thought back to Gabriel. Finding his brother had been a joyous moment for him. Knowing that one of his brothers hadn’t abandoned him and still walked the earth made him feel like he had a family again. It was the first time he had felt hope since his fall. If he could’ve just gotten Gabriel to join sides with him, he wouldn’t be alone anymore. Gabriel wouldn’t stab him in the back. Make fun of him to his face, maybe, yes, but he wasn’t going to betray him. But Gabriel didn’t want to join him. Granted, he didn’t want to join Michael and Raphael’s cause either, but being on the side of humans? How disgusting! So Lucifer felt perfectly justified in throwing Gabriel in a cell and making him repent for going against him. He could see Gabriel’s grace fading, and he helped the process along as much as he could. But Gabe wouldn’t break. Every day, Lucifer would visit, bringing him food or a book to read, but his brother couldn’t be persuaded. He had eventually applied some torture techniques, but none worked- Gabriel was so fucking stubborn. And he would fight back. His will refused to be broken, no matter how hard Lucifer pushed him. Lesser angels had broken merely under his stare, but Gabriel was an archangel, one of the first children of their Father, and he was made of tougher stuff. Lucifer admired that about him as much as it frustrated him. Gabriel would fire back and ask him why doesn’t he give it up and let the humans have their stupid planet and they could go vacation in some warm tropical climate. But Lucifer laughed at his brother’s attempt and temptation. He had the gift of persuasion, but it couldn’t be used against the one who taught him all he knew. Gabriel even insulted him by trying to talk to Sam through Lucifer. As if the vessel was strong enough to overwhelm Lucifer’s control. The notion was ridiculous. 

And then the son of a bitch went and escaped. Lucifer had his suspicions that one of his troops had made some deal or betrayed him, so he slashed his way through his court and no one would talk. He knew they feared him enough to turn on one another, but nothing came out of it. So he was alone again. The bitterness returned full-force and his despair was gnawing at him. He was alone, and now all of his family had abandoned him. All because they misunderstood him. All he wanted was to be heard and understood. If they could just see that Father made a mistake asking them to serve such a disgusting sniveling mass of flesh and bone, then they could all be happy again, like they were in the early days. If they had just _listened,_ he wouldn’t have to kill them all, slaughter every last one of them, and swim in their blood. It was really their fault, they brought this on themselves.   
Lucifer shook his head slightly. He kept getting lost in daydreaming, a very human exercise. He wasn’t there to attack Heaven. He just needed his juice. Let the big and bad sort it out themselves and he could leave this universe once and for all. 

Within the hour, Gabriel’s horn was brought to his throne room. He held his hands out to receive it, then glared maliciously at his servants until they left the room. Rowena remained, but she knew her place and stayed silent. It had been so long since he had held an object this sacred in his hands. He could feel the power running through it, and it was so distinctly _Gabriel,_ that it made his chest tighten in resentment at the loss. He rolled the horn across his palms. The engraving was intricate and beautiful. The filigree moved like oil on water, constantly changing shape and design. It would show sigils then switch to show sweet treats and candy. Lucifer didn’t understand the significance of the sweets, but his brother was always sort of an enigma. He was given the task of going among the humans and delivering messages for their Father, usually birth announcements and such. Once he stayed for a few earth years with a man on the prophet list, Daniel or something, and they were companions for a long time. Lucifer knew it had been a bad idea to let his brother spend too much time with the humans, but it’s not like anyone (Father included) was paying attention to him anymore anyway.   
They had let him rot. His own brother had locked him in that cage where he had nothing to do but wait until he could escape and take what was rightfully his. It had been a bit anti-climactic when he rose, really. The Winchesters somehow escaped, rumored that it was his Father, but he knew it was probably that little shit Michael, who thought he was better than everyone else. The first son, he could do no wrong, and the other angels looked to him in the absence of Father. Michael was the one who put him in the cage, and he couldn’t forgive him and relished the day he would face him. Busting out of Hell was supposed to feel satisfying but Lucifer didn’t feel the freedom he thought he would when he escaped the pit. Instead it was more waiting around for things to happen. He discovered daytime tv and watched talk shows based on paternity tests- he manipulated the lie detector and test results just to watch the humans physically attack each other. He loved Jerry Springer, but soon discovered it was scripted- but loved the idea that the hairless apes could be paid money to humiliate themselves on national television and beat each other to a pulp. That’s why America was his favorite country- sin was in, and he barely had to lift a finger and the souls came rolling in. He spent time changing his Wikipedia page, changing facts to make himself appear more neutral, like a victim, or it was a mistake and his name was synonymous with simply being the Morning Star, and not a fallen archangel. He loved the New Age revolution where average suburban moms would sell their souls to learn witchcraft and have their enemies in the PTA destroyed. He would grin every time he heard of the devastation in the middle east- pleased that literally nothing had changed in centuries. No one could agree on which way to praise their own definition of his Father, and they would murder one another over it. Blow up buildings over it. The corruption in politics was unbelieveable. Taking down the humans was going to almost too easy. He didn’t even have to waste his time going around whispering in the ears of powerful men to start the process of the apocalypse; they were already doing evil when he got to the party. It was disappointing, in a way, but he felt triumph- he was _right,_ he had been right since the beginning, humans were a disease, rotting and putrefying the earth, and he was the cure, coming to wipe them out of existence. 

Lucifer closed his eyes, checking on Sam. The boy wasn’t there. Lucifer frowned and burrowed deeper. He looked around, checking the constructed illusion. He was surprised to find it in shambles. Not just a room or a person, but all of it. Lucifer started to worry. This was the first time things fell apart and he didn’t hear anything from Sam. The boy usually thought so loudly that he was easy to keep up with. Something had changed. The house, the job, the town were all smeared chunks, not recognizable as much. He sloshed his way down the ruined streets. Perhaps Sam had finally left the building. He assumed he would feel it if Sam’s soul left, but it was possible the boy was still there, hiding somewhere.   
Lucifer stopped in front of what appeared to be the library. If the boy stuck to his usual habits, he would try to research any suspicions he was having. The library was an obvious choice, and Lucifer was careful keep the lore section completely blank, lest Sam get this far before he could come and fix things. Lucifer stopped at the front desk, squinting at the employee sitting there. The man (just an echo of a memory he drudged up from Sam’s subconscious) was staring off into the distance with his mouth open. He was missing an arm and his face was a bit smeared. This wasn’t a good sign. The degradation of the visual stimuli was evidence that Sam had been here and consciously dismissed the man as an illusion. The basement was worse. It was clear Sam discovered something there, but it was unclear as to what it was. It was strange to Lucifer that the boy hadn’t tried confronting him, as he had done in the past. He had somehow kept him out of a part of his consciousness. That was bad. Very bad. If Sam realized that he could push him out, Lucifer was totally fucked. If he could find the boy quick enough, he might be able to do some damage control, but it was unlikely he would have the energy to rebuild any kind of illusion. He would have to somehow detain Sam, convince him he wasn’t strong enough to fight him. Let Sam choose to let Lucifer stay. If he could get him to do that for just a day, he would be powered up and all would be back on track. 

Lucifer stood on the remains of the street looking around slowly. The trail of the melting images wandered in a specific direction, and he could see a distinctive path. He followed it to a an area that seemed unaffected by the disintegration. There was a motel there- The Sleep Easy, it said, and it looked like a page right out of the Winchester playbook. Almost too easy. Lucifer approached, walking easily, sidling up to the parking lot. It was harder move through there. Like wading through syrup. He could see a light on in one of the windows and a shadow moving behind it. Wait- _two_ shadows? So the boy had someone with him. Maybe he had saved the wifey clone to fuck a little, but most likely the boy had his brother in there, using him to try and hold on to some form of sanity.   
Lucifer walked to the room’s door. He was having a hard time moving his feet through the muck. He looked around him and saw the parking lot and surrounding area starting to lose form as well. _Shit._ Sam would see him coming if this was happening out here. He doubled his efforts to get to the door. He reached out with his palm facing the door and pulsed. A small spark of grace eked out and bounced off of the door. Lucifer started. That wasn’t good. He reached out again, this time trying the doorknob and it opened easily The door swung open and Lucifer looked in. It was empty. The boy had felt him coming and hid again. This was a huge problem. Lucifer stood by the table and rubbed his hand down his face. He looked at the table- there was a book there. His brows shot up and he reached out. _Angel Encyclopedia, A-R._ Interesting, the book wasn’t anything Lucifer had seen before. He reached out to flip the pages, but they were sticking to his fingers. He caught a glimpse of a few early depictions of his brothers, looking all sexually ambiguous, and smirked slightly. Bunch of fucking assholes. He tried to flip to his page, but it began to melt quickly, and he had to fight a little to get it off his hand. This was a whole lot of not good. There is specifically not supposed to be any lore books here. If he didn’t create this, did it mean Sam was strong enough to break the walls to his memories and create it himself? It was possible, but seemed unlikely. And who was that he saw through the window?   
Lucifer had begun to pace the room. If Dean was here, that meant the angel Castiel was here too. Maybe that’s how Dean got in. But that didn’t make sense, Dean didn’t have any kind of power to occupy a vessel. There was that dream root stuff, but he was sure that Sam would have to be in control of the mind completely for that to work. No, this was the work of another being- not human. Rowena had ensure him that Castiel had spent all his grace, and he would be safe from him. This didn’t seem like something Castiel could pull off though. The guy was loyal and whatnot, but he was a soldier who followed orders. He helplessly followed Dean to his death a few years ago, like a lemming with the rest of them. And Dean wasn’t clever enough to come up with this plan. It was someone else. Someone he hadn’t accounted for. Someone who was missing- in fact missing from his cell. Lucifer looked around the motel room once more. He didn’t know how he missed it. This reeked of Gabriel. This was going to be a problem. 

Lucifer opened his eyes and waved Rowena over. “Gabriel is in the vicinity, I can feel him,” he said, “if he gets near the horn, we might have an...issue,” He said this with a toss of his hand, like it was no big deal, “so you need to get some of your girls and a handful of your biggest demons to stand guard. If we have a security breach, we may not get the jump on the angels.”   
Rowena nodded and smiled, “Yes my lord,” she said with a bow of her head. She moved closer to him, standing by his chair gently touching his forearm, stroking upward to his bicep. He looked at her hand with a raised eyebrow. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she said fluttering her eyelashes, “maybe to help you...loosen up?” Her other hand settled on his chest, rubbing her fingers in small circles.   
Lucifer smirked lasciviously at her, and pulled her into his lap, placing a hand around her throat. She grinned wickedly and he could feel her pulse quicken. He could just squeeze. Just a little. Lucifer schooled his features to hide his revulsion from her. He would allow this witch a little contact, to feel the power of his hand around her neck, but he was disgusted. He would kill her first when this was done, or better yet have the dog Crowley do it. The audacity she had to touch him, filthy disgusting human.   
Instead, he leaned into her ear and growled, “Do what I ask and we’ll see.” She vibrated in his lap and squirmed under his hand. He held on a little tighter, but her smile only widened and her eyes grew dark with lust. Lucifer let go and pet her head, murmuring, “not now, just wait. There will be plenty of time for that later. When I can lay you out in the halls of Heaven and fuck you senseless in front the host.” She was nearly salivating now, and he was starting to get nauseous. With a wink, she hopped off his lap and swished her way to the door, tossing him a smile as she left, closing the door behind her.   
Lucifer’s smile fell off his face and he slumped in his chair. He was so over that witch. But he had reason for all that he did, but he wasn’t about to fuck her, he had _standards_ after all. Ruby was a sweet girl, but he wouldn’t dare touch that foul smelling thing- sulfur was not a turn on. In fact, not a whole lot turned him on. It was funny how the humans had used his name in conjunction with sex when it wasn’t of any interest to him at all. Sure, he used seduction techniques all the time, but he never followed through. The only lust he had was for blood, spilling it, making others spill it. And if he was lucky, by the end of the day he’d get to do both. 

He kind of missed Sam. And he was beyond livid with Gabriel for trying to interfere. He had to go in and fix this now, or he was going to have to vacate the premises, and he wasn’t sure he had enough grace left to posses Nick, who he had stored in a hospital bed in a coma in the building somewhere. He had to find Sam. And kill Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut to follow!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiel fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a smidge of smut

Dean twitched in his sleep, slowing coming to his senses. He was aware that he was safe, and it was almost an unfamiliar feeling. Being a hunter meant he could never sleep deeply or for very long. He had to be ready at a moment’s notice, and on the defence. Being on his own for so long now, he had to keep his ears tuned in to his surroundings in his sleep, regardless if he was dreaming. He was brought up this way, and it served him well in recent years. But today he felt safe.  
Dean could feel the cool sheets under his legs and back. The bed was soft, softer than anything he’d slept on in recent memory. That wasn’t to hard to accomplish- sleeping on a welcome mat would be softer than most of the surfaces he usually slept on. He also had an honest-to-goodness pillow under his head. _Spoiled,_ he thought, _there’ll be no living with me now._ He stretched his arms and rolled on his side, pushing up against something soft. He wrapped his arms around Cas’ chest and nuzzled into his back. Cas stiffened. Dean froze. He had expected a different reaction. Dean waited for Cas to relax, but he continued to be awkward. Dean relaxed his grip and opened his eyes. Castiel was clearly awake- he was looking a Dean in the reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Dean felt his breath catch. He stared back into those impossibly blue eyes. Cas held his stare for a few moments, then his eyes darted away, and his posture relaxed.  
Dean sat up, rolling Cas onto his back. Looking down into his face, he could see the ever-present worry lines deepen.  
“What is it, Cas,” Dean asked, “you need a few more hours’ sleep?”  
“Dean, you know I don’t need sleep.” The corner of Cas’ lip twitched upward, causing Dean to break into a grin. There were no words to express how Dean felt at that moment; seeing Cas laid out before him, real and alive. He leaned down and pressed their lips together. Once again Cas flinched, causing Dean to draw back and narrow his eyes.  
“Seriously, Cas, what’s wrong?”  
Castiel pushed himself up onto his elbows, and glanced away. “I don’t know if we should do this Dean,” Cas said looking back at him, his eyes looking wet. Dean reached his arms around the angel and pulled him up to his chest. He ran his fingers through Cas’ perpetual bedhead and hushed him.  
“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” Dean said soothingly, “hell, we even have you Dad’s permission.” Dean saw that his attempt at humor fell flat.  
Cas looked up into his eyes again, biting his lower lip, causing Dean to shiver. “That’s not the issue, Dean,” he said, “I spoke with my Father on the way here on the van, and he told me that although I have the memories of the Castiel who was with you here, I am from a different timeline, and I’m, um, I-I mean,” his face bloomed pink and he looked away again.  
Dean burst out laughing. Cas frowned at him, narrowing his eyes. “It’s hardly funny,” Cas said, “I’m not who you think I am- when you were with that version of me I wasn’t... I’m still...inexperienced.”  
Dean cleared his throat and tried to think of distracting things to will away his erection so he could be a gentleman.  
“I’m sorry Cas, I wasn’t thinking. But I guess you’re right, huh,” he licked his lip and watched Cas flick his eyes down at the motion, “I don’t want to push you or anything, I just...I’m just really happy you’re here. Any version of you.”  
Cas furrowed his brow slightly. “I’m happy to be here as well,” he said. “But you have to remember that I technically have never met you before now. You didn’t exist where I am from, and I am having a hard time reconciling the two timelines with this third. Being here with you is like having a dream come true.”  
That set Dean off again, he giggled until his eyes ran. Cas looked at him disapprovingly, but Dean could see a glint of mirth in his eye. Cas shook his head slightly, “You are just like I’d thought you’d be. Exactly like I’d thought you’d be, in fact.”  
Dean wiped his eyes, “I’m sorry, man, it’s just the whole ‘man of my dreams’ was just too much. Seriously cheesy.” Cas pursed his lips, trying to keep a smile from escaping. Dean leaned forward until his mouth was about two inches from the angel’s. He waited there, so Cas could be the one to close the gap. There was a pause where they just felt their breath against their lips, and then Cas brushed them together. It was electric. Dean had to really concentrate on not pushing Cas back down and attacking his mouth. He would let the angel lead this, at whatever pace he wanted.  
Cas pressed their lips together again, parting them slightly. Dean did as well, and he felt Cas’ tongue flick out and taste his bottom lip. Dean tentatively returned the gesture. Cas moaned a little, and pulled back to peer into Dean’s eyes. They sat there, panting slightly, letting the tension build. Suddenly, Cas dove back in and mashed their lips together, pushing Dean’s mouth open and delving in with his tongue. Dean moaned into the kiss, and Cas pulled Dean down on top of him. Dean slotted his leg between Cas’ thighs, and rolled down with his hip, causing them to moan together. Cas’ hands were everywhere, fumbling almost frantically to push sheets off the bed and pulling both of their underwear off, trying to touch as much skin as possible. Dean was so hard, he almost came like a teenager when Cas’ fingers brushed the head of his cock. Dean shifted so their erections lined up and they thrust against one another desperately. Dean reached down and wrapped his fist around them both and stroked slowly. Cas gasped and rutted into his hand, and said something in Enochian. Dean smirked remembering the first time he made Cas come- screaming in Enochian and the look of pure bliss on his face, eyes wide and staring straight into Dean. He let Cas draw him down into another sloppy deep kiss and then pulled back, putting his finger on Cas’ lips to stop his objection. He slid down the length of Cas’ body and kissed his hipbone, settling between his knees. He watched the angel’s chest rise and fall, and placed open-mouth kisses on Cas’ thighs, his belly and his hips again. Cas lifted up on his elbows and looked down at Dean with his mouth open and panting, eyes dark. Dean smiled up at him through his lashes and flicked his tongue out touching the tip of Cas’ cock. Cas shuddered. Dean licked up his length- root to tip, and swallowed him down at once. Cas thrust up into Dean’s mouth, and grabbed his head, twisting his hair in his fingers. Dean set up a steady pace, milking Cas with his mouth, fondling his balls and pressing on his perineum with his knuckles. Dean felt Cas stiffen, about to come. Cas tried to pull Dean’s head off, but Dean hummed around Cas’ cock in dissent, causing the angel to arch his back and freeze, fingers clamping on Dean’s head. Dean felt his own orgasm building, and realized he was about to come untouched. Dean sped up, and pressed a wet finger into Cas’ hole, just breaching it, gently pushing in and out. Cas came hard and fast down Dean’s throat, the hunter swallowing easily, relishing the taste. Dean gently pulled off as Cas grew sensitive, and wiped his mouth. Cas was panting loudly with his eyes closed. Dean looked down at the bedspread under his knees, and huffed a laugh.  
“Looks like I’m taken care of too,” he said, grinning back up at the angel. He wiped them up with the corner of a sheet and climbed back up Cas until he was hovering over his face. Cas slowly opened his eyes, a shock of blue that stole Dean’s breath, and blinked several times. His face was open with wonder, enchanted with Dean gazing back at him. 

********

Cas stood at the bathroom door and wrinkled his nose. He wished he could summon enough grace to fill a bath for Dean, but he knew they had a long trek ahead of them and it would be selfish to use it to spoil Dean. He touched the sink tap and it filled the basin with hot water. That would do for now. Dean joined him in the bathroom and groaned with pleasure at having hot water on his skin. After they washed up, he pulled out a razor and soap and happily shaved off his beard. Cas perched on the countertop and watched with interest as Dean used battery operated clippers and a small hand mirror to give himself a haircut- the Dean Cas knew from the other timeline emerged, fresh-faced and clean. His green eyes were momentarily sparkling as he leaned over and brushed Cas’ lips with his own, cupping his jaw with his free hand. Cas loved the feel of Dean’s smooth cheek against his own. He closed his eyes and breathed Dean in, wanting to remember him just this way. Peaceful, domestic, happy. Castiel knew this wasn’t a moment that would last, and he wanted to savor it for as long as possible. He felt Dean lift his chin with his finger and he opened his eyes to Dean’s concerned face. No question was asked, but it was clear what he needed to know.  
“Dean,” Cas began, “My Father wishes to put us back to the point in time where you were to be retrieved by the angel Zachariah in 2014 and brought back to 2009. I will come to you per our appointment, and He says the universe will have righted itself.” Cas looked down and took a breath, “We won’t know this anymore. We won’t have...this.” He looked back up into Dean’s eyes. Dean was searching his face and his worried face deepened, paused, then seemed to relax. He blinked and touched his lips to Cas again. “I know, Cas,” he said softly, “but I think we will find our way to this again, don’t you?” He ran his hands along Cas’ forearms and pulled him into a hug. Cas buried his face into Dean’s neck, tasting his skin and inhaling him, memorizing it, vowing to hold on to it as hard as he could. Dean tightened the embrace, and spoke in his ear, ghosting kisses along it as he spoke.  
“I knew before then,” he breathed, “before all of it. I knew as far back as...I don’t know,” he chuckled, “but I’ve always felt this in some way.” Dean stroked the back of Cas’ neck and pressed kisses behind his ear. “Don’t worry, Cas, we’ll find each other again.”  
Cas wanted to believe him so badly- that it would be like this again, but he could hear a trace of worry staining Dean’s confidence. Cas slid his right hand up and carefully placed it on the scar on Dean’s bicep. Dean dropped his head to Cas’ shoulder, bit down gently, then burrowed into Cas’ neck, his lips resting on his pulsepoint. Cas pulled him closer, their bodies touching every way he could manage, and he felt tears slip from Dean’s eyes against his skin. Cas simply held him.  
Cas remembered the first time he held Dean. He had found his way to this brilliant soul, this one who, unlike John Winchester, fought Castiel at first, screaming to let him rot in hell because it’s what he deserved. Cas had held him, just like he held him now, and flapped his enormous wings downward once, propelling them both out of hell at the speed of light, wrapped around each other. Cas was in his true form, and he pushed his grace through every crack in Dean’s soul, until the soul fell silent, regarding Castiel with wonder. Cas took Dean back to his body, which he had already spent several hours repairing: fixing its cellular structure, cleaning it gently, and admiring its beauty. When he placed Dean back in his vessel, he hesitated. The time had come for him to let go, he was supposed to let go, jumpstart Dean’s vitals, and leave. A simple enough order. But Castiel had looked down at this Righteous Man and everything stood still. He couldn’t pull away, he had to linger just a little longer. Castiel reached his grace out, just meaning to touch him once, to commit him to memory, but he had underestimated how brittle the human body is, and he burned Dean’s arm, marking him. The pulse of energy Castiel felt from that touch shot outward from them, leveling the forest around them. The angel was left stunned and Dean sucked in his first breath. Castiel jerked his grace back and retreated quickly, feeling shameful at his actions, but not regretful. He was changed forever and this man, this Righteous Man, was _his,_ and he never really could let go. 

Cas and Dean dressed themselves and headed outside to the van. Gabriel and Father were already there, lying back in the front seats, boots propped up on the dash, chatting lazily about the most scenic of his Father’s nature creations. They were passing a bottle between them, and it was almost empty. Castiel frowned.  
“Do you think it’s wise to be drinking right now?” Cas asked. Gabriel’s head shot up wearing a goofy grin and waggling his eyebrows.  
“Do you think it’s wise to be so judgy about us drinking when you clearly just got done boinking you boy toy?” Gabriel smirked, handing the bottle back to his Father, who was choking on laughter.  
Castiel rolled his eyes and glanced at Dean who had gone bright red. “Shut up, Gabriel,” he said with narrowed eyes, “don’t be childish. If Sam Winchester was here, it would be you who were-”  
“Wait-...what?!” sputtered Dean, “This is news to me. What the actual fuck, Gabriel?” He narrowed his eyes at the archangel, balling his fists up.  
It was Gabriel’s turn to go red, and he scrambled over the seat to the back to get away from Dean. “It’s nothing, I swear!” he yelled, backing away from the angry older brother. “We were just comparing notes, and I said I liked the taller Winchester better because he was cuter, and I wanted to wear his ass like a hat.” Gabe cackled as Dean flailed an arm out to grab him.  
Narrowly missing a punch, Gabe jumped out the rear door of the van and ran to his Father’s side. Dean followed, but kept a safe distance and grit his teeth and seethed with anger.  
Chuck sighed and ruffled Gabriel’s hair fondly. “No worries, Dean,” Chuck said, “It’s not like that. My boy here has actual real live grown-up feelings for your brother, but he’s being a giant chicken about it.” Gabriel smacked a hand over his eyes and whined, “Daaad...stop, you’re killing my macho image here.” Chuck snorted, and pulled his son in, clapping him on the back. “There’s no one left to impress anymore, actually, except maybe Sam,” He said, smiling sweetly. He looked at the other two. “That’s a good enough segue to what we need to really be talking about now.” Chuck handed the bottle to Dean, who gratefully accepted it and downed about half of its remaining contents. Cas raised an eyebrow at him. Dean smiled innocently and shrugged.  
Chuck began to pace as he spoke. “Lucifer will be juiced up more than us at this point; he’s been siphoning off of souls to maintain his power, but it doesn’t supplement his grace, so he’s even more unstable. I think the best way to get to Lucifer is to expel him from Sam first- so he has to retreat to a different vessel, one who can’t contain him as well. It will add to his weakened state.” He glanced at Gabe and continued speaking, “If he has a vessel on hand, which I suspect he does, we can trap him and find out how he plans to blast the gates.” Dean was shaking his head. “You have something Dean?”  
Dean looked at Cas for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t think trying to trap Lucifer is a good idea,” he said, “Is there a way to find out his plans before we attack? I mean, if we had some intel on how his plan was gonna go down, we would know Sammy would be safe once Lucifer vacates him. If he’s got some wack-as plan to just storm the gates, I don’t want Sammy in the middle of a bunch of demons, or worse, croats.”  
Chuck tilted his head at Gabe. “Actually that’s a good point. We should gather intel first, but we need a mole. Someone on the inside, so to speak,” He was looking at Gabriel who had his eyebrows up in surprise. “What- me?” he exclaimed, “I have to break in there? Forget it, I’m not your guy. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Chuck smiled knowingly, “Actually that’s what I’m counting on,” He said, “I need your skills as the Trickster to pull this off. I think he’ll listen to you,”  
Gabe looked taken aback. “He didn’t listen when he had me locked up in that tiny room-”  
Chuck was waving his hand at him. “No, no, not Lucifer- I mean Sam,” He said, “Inside Sam... Well, that came out wrong,” he chuckled, slapping Gabe on the back. Gabe stood there with wide eyes, “You mean…” he started. “You dreamwalk Sam,” Chuck said, “...sort of,” he looked over to Castiel, “and you’re going to put him in there.”  
Castiel nodded. It wouldn’t be a problem. Well, it wouldn’t be a problem as long as Dean got on board. Cas could see him out of the corner of his eye. Dean’s face was growing more concerned at the direction of the conversation.  
“Now wait just a minute, here,” Dean broke in, “you’re actually suggesting that we let _him_ run free in Sammy’s brain? This guy? Oh no, no way. This pervert- God only knows what he’ll-” Dean stopped short and looked at Chuck with wide eyes.  
Chuck grimaced, “I’d rather not know, actually,” he said, “but I’m sure he’ll behave, right Gabriel?”  
The archangel had been frozen in the same expression for a while, but he snapped out of it to look at Dean and waggle his eyebrows. “Sure Dad,” he said, smirking, “I’ll be a good boy and-” Dean held up a hand to silence him. “That’s enough,” Dean said, “I don’t even want to know how that sentence ends.” He shuddered loudly, and moved to stand next to Cas. “I’m not even a little okay with that,” Dean said, eyeing Gabe, “but do what you gotta to get Sammy back.”  
Gabe dropped the leer, and spoke softly to Dean, earnestness in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll get him back. I promise.” Dean searched Gabe’s face for a moment, seemed to accept what he found, and nodded resolutely.  
Chuck glanced at the sun to check the time. “Okay, guys, now that that’s out of the way... Castiel.” Cas stepped to his Father and stood at attention. Chuck looked over him and pressed his lips together. “I can see your grace,” he said, “and you’ve got enough to fly us to Chicago and place Gabe in Sam’s mind. But I’m not sure there will be anything left over.” Castiel nodded and looked back at Dean. “I am fine without it, father,” Cas said, “I will still be able to fight.”  
Chuck nodded in satisfaction. “We will need to be somewhere where we can keep Gabriel’s vessel safe, preferably within a short distance from Lucifer and Sam. Maybe even the same building.” Chuck started pacing again. “Gabe said Lucifer has himself stationed in the Sears Tower, which makes sense if you look at it in parallels to the tower of Babel and pride and Lucifer falling…” he looked down, pondering. Then he flapped his hand at the others, “never mind, just thinking aloud. Let’s just fly there and take a room near the base of the building and ward it. That should work for a little recon too.” Everyone nodded in agreement.  
The four put on their packs and stood in a circle, holding on to the shoulder of the man next to him. Castiel looked into their faces and his heart stuttered. He understood finally what John, Bobby, and Sam had been talking about for so long. This was _family._  
Cas broke into a smile, dazzling the others, stretched his wings open, and off they went in a whirlwind of feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabriel coming, folks. It happened organically so I truly can't be blamed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabe in Sam's head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sabriel smut turned to Sabriel fluff, sorta. I just felt weird about the setting. So just a little bonding and maybe second base, but no one whips their dick out (looking at you Gabriel) until maybe later.
> 
> Also I used a piece of the transcript from Mystery Spot- just borrowing to make a point.
> 
> Aaaand my editing is crap, as usual.
> 
> Hugs and kisses to you all.

Sam was pacing the room. He occasionally glanced at the archangel lounging on the bed. For the most part, Gabriel seemed to be ignoring him in favor of the candy bars and tiny bottles of liquor he had pulled from the mini bar. Gabe was unsuccessfully trying to cram pieces of chocolate into a miniature bottle of tequila. Sam stopped pacing and watched in amusement as the chocolate crumbs were shaken up in the bottle and held up triumphantly by the angel. He looked at Sam and grinned.  
“Come on, Sammy,” he smirked, patting the bed next to him, “we should get comfortable while we wait and have a little drinky-poo to pass the time.”  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Drinky-poo?” he laughed, “are you trying to get me drunk in my own mind?”  
Gabe winked, his smirk widening with his usual confidence. “It’s worth a shot,” he said, “get drunk, watch porn- what are friends for?”  
“Pretty sure friends don’t watch porn together,” Sam said, pulling a bitch face.  
Gabe looked at him with reproach. “Now Sammy, don’t be like that,” he replied, batting his eyelashes, “how am I supposed to seduce you if you don’t allow me too?”  
“First of all,” said Sam with narrowed eyes, “it’s Sam, not Sammy. Second, not interested. Thirdly, why are you here?”  
Gabe feigned shock and gasped loudly. “Well, clutch mah pearls,” he said in a mock Southern belle accent, “Ah nevah would defile your virtue in any way. Now come have a mint julep on the veranda and we’ll talk about it.”  
Sam eyed him warily and didn’t move until Gabe sighed and dropped his head and gestured at the end of the bed. “Sit over there, whatever, I don’t care,” the archangel said, rolling his eyes.  
Sam sat facing him on the edge of the bed. Gabriel popped the cap back off his chocolate tequila and gulped it down in one shot. He winced at the burn and raised his eyebrows in approval.  
Gabe let out a breath and seemed to steel himself before speaking.  
“Sam. I’m here with Dean, Castiel, and...Chuck. We’ve been looking for you for a while now, but we were having some...space-time continuum difficulties.” He paused and opened a tiny bottle of vodka. “We are in a room about three floors below where Lucifer has you in the Sears tower in Chicago. Cas has put me into your mind- as a sort of dream walky thing, and it’s drained about the last of his grace. Lucifer is planning to bust into Heaven- it’s still not completely clear whether it’s just because he needs to level-up his grace again, or if he really wants to annex the place as like, _Hell 3, Penthouse Edition._ We don’t know how he’s planning to do it, and any info you might know would be pretty helpful right about now.”  
Sam stared at him stupidly, trying to process all of that. He didn’t even know where to begin. Cas was alive? He figured something was up when he saw a dead Dean and a live Dean when Lucifer accidentally leaked some images through to him. He guessed that was the “space-time continuum” thing Gabe was talking about. He felt like he was in the damn Matrix. And why was Chuck there- that seemed weird, but he guessed the little guy was a survivor or whatever. But how could he trust Gabriel after what he put him through the last time they met? The guy seemed not to give a damn whose life he destroyed, and he could be here just to fuck him over now. Sam had spent an agonizing six months in a pocket universe hunting this Trickster down so he could get Dean back. And now he was working _with_ Dean?  
Gabe suddenly looked guilty and looked back at his stock of booze. Sam pulled another bitch face. “You could hear all that, couldn’t you?” he asked.  
Gabe smiled cautiously at him and nodded. “Sorry?” he said with a grimace, “ Back then, I thought I was...helping. I needed you to accept the death of your brother and move on. I knew if you fought your destiny, you would never play the part and say yes to Lucifer. I was very pro-apocalypse at the time,” he said sheepishly, not able to meet Sam’s eye. “Look how that turned out. Terrible idea.”  
Sam eyed him skeptically, sighed, and reached out and snagged one of the tiny liquor bottles. He huffed a laugh. It was whisky, which made him miss Dean. He took the cap off and drank it in one shot, hoping it would calm his nerves a bit. He wanted to trust Gabriel, hell, he was the first actual person (sort of) he’d had contact with in so long, but it was hard to believe that he had any kind of good intentions when it came to the hell he went through at the Mystery Spot.  
Gabe threw down his empty bottle and stood up, rolling his eyes. “You don’t believe me?” he said, “I get that. I earned that distrust from you. But…” he paused, looking like he was holding something back. Sam waited. “I guess I can show you,” he finished.  
Gabriel snapped his fingers.

********

_”Sam? It's Bobby. I found him.”_

_Sam walked into the Mystery Spot with his dead eyes fixed on Bobby kneeling on the floor. He was turning the pages of a book placed in the center of a chalked diagram with three candles and three bowls of unidentified substances. He stood._

_“It's good to see you, boy.” Bobby hugged Sam, but Sam just stared straight ahead and didn’t hug him back._  
“What are we doing here, Bobby?” Sam asked.  
“Well, it's the last place we're sure the Trickster worked his magic,” Bobby responded.  
“So?” Sam retorted, maintaining his stoic expression.  
“So you want this thing? I found a summoning ritual to bring the Trickster here.” Bobby gestured to the spell laid out on the floor.  
Sam narrowed his eyes at the hunter. “What do we need?”  
“Blood,” Bobby said grimly.  
Unflinching, Sam cocked his head. “How much blood?”  
“Ritual says near a gallon. And it's gotta be fresh, too.” Bobby looked back at the spell, hands on his hips.  
Sam’s lip twitched. “Meaning we have to bleed a person dry.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement.  
Bobby looked back at him and nodded. “And it's gotta be tonight. Or not for another fifty years.”  
“Then let's go get some.” Sam turned to leave, carefully eyeing Bobby who was standing still, gaping at him. Sam turned back and raised his eyebrows.  
Bobby looked defeated, his eyes growing sorrowful. “You break my heart, kid,” he said, shaking his head.  
“What?” Sam asked feigning innocence, stepping closer to the old hunter.  
Bobby stood his ground. “I'm not gonna let you murder an innocent man.”  
“Then why'd you bring me here?” Sam was growing impatient.  
Bobby threw his hands up, “Why? Because it was the only way you'd see me! Because I'm trying to knock some sense into you! Because I thought you'd back down from killing a man!”  
“Well, you thought wrong. Leave the stuff, I'll do it myself.” Sam started to move past Bobby, but Bobby stopped him, gripping his arm. “I told you, I'm not gonna let you kill a man.”  
Sam wrenched his arm out of Bobby’s grasp, yelling, “It's none of your damn business what I do!”  
“You want your brother back so bad?” Bobby leaned down and pulled a knife out of his bag. He held it up to Sam. “Fine,” he said.  
Sam eyed the knife. “What are you talking about?”  
“Better me than a civilian,” Bobby said, reasonably, as if it were normal to ask the boy he thought of as a son to kill him. He held the knife out to Sam  
Sam looked at him incredulously. “You're crazy, Bobby. I'm not killing you.”  
Bobby snorted, “Oh, now I'm the crazy one. Look, Sam, I'm old, I'm coming near the end of my trail. But you can keep fighting. Saving folk. But you need your brother. Let me get him back to you.”  
“Bobby—” Sam started.  
Bobby held his hand up. “You and Dean, you boys are the closest thing I have to family. I wanna do this.”  
“Okay,” Sam said warily, taking the knife.  
“Good,” Bobby said, turning around and getting on his knees, “Just make it quick.”  
Sam hesitated, worry lines creasing his forehead- none of this made sense. He breathed out. This was a trick. It had to be. Bobby would never put him in this position, he loved the boy too much, and Sam knew it.  
“Do it, son,” Bobby pushed.  
Sam quietly pulled a stake dipped in lamb’s blood out of his shirt, corner of his mouth smirking.  
“Yeah, okay, Bobby,” he said, “But you wanna know why?”  
Sam grabbed Bobby around the throat and shoved the stake through his back. The tip came out Bobby's chest along with a gush of blood.  
“Because you're not Bobby,” Sam said smugly, twisting the stake, causing more blood to spurt out of the wound.  
Bobby went still and fell forward. Sam let go of him, then stared at Bobby's still form laying on the ground, face down. He waited. Nothing happened.  
Sam started to panic. “Bobby? Bobby! Bobby!” he said, voice cracking.  
Bobby's corpse suddenly vanished. The stake fell over, then shot over Sam's shoulder into the hand of the Trickster. 

_“You're right. I was just screwing with you. Pretty good, though, Sam. Smart. Let me tell you, whoever said Dean was the dysfunctional one has never seen you with a sharp object in your hands. Holy Full Metal Jacket-”_

Sam held up his hands and closed his eyes, pacing around to the image of who he knew of at the time as the Trickster, now frozen in place, staring back at a younger version of Sam.  
“Wait, wait. Stop there,” he said, squinting in confusion at Gabriel, who looked very uncomfortable. “You meant all of that, didn’t you?” Sam asked, “that was you- not Bobby. You were saying those things to me?”  
Gabriel chewed his lip and nodded, looking away.  
Sam moved to catch his eyes, holding his stare a few moments before speaking. “Every call I got from Bobby, that was from you?”  
Gabriel smiled warily, and nodded again.  
Sam considered the conversation again. “And you just wanted to see me? You were trying to lure me to you the whole time?”  
Gabe huffed and looked at the ceiling and waved his arms at the scene in front of them. “Yeah, well, you didn’t make it easy. I had tried for most of the time you were on your revenge rampage to get you to meet me so you could stop. But you wouldn’t until I promised that the real me would be there…so...” He wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes.  
“So,” Sam repeated, looking at Gabriel as if seeing him for the first time, “I broke your heart when I wouldn’t back down from killing a man, that was you.”  
Gabe said nothing.  
Sam stepped cautiously toward Gabriel, his face softening a little. “And the thing about me and Dean being like family? You were just selling the character, right?”  
Gabe broke eye contact and stepped back, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s what it was,” he said without conviction, “why would I think of you two like that?”  
“Because you were lonely,” came the matter-of-fact response, “and because you missed your own brothers. It makes sense, really, that you would find us again- we were maybe the only people you’d seen in a long time that saw what you were and, hell, even Dean said he liked your style back when we met you. Like a mutual respect. I’ve always wondered that, actually,” Sam said, taking another slow step toward Gabriel, enjoying teasing the archangel, “why would you bother trying to teach me a lesson at all? Dean going to Hell was inevitable, why did you care if I accepted it or not?”  
Gabe looked at his feet and mumbled something under his breath.  
“What was that,” asked Sam, smirking, “I didn’t quite catch it.”  
Gabe groaned and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands and repeated himself, “Because I didn’t want you to suffer, okay! It wasn’t fair because you could do literally nothing about it, but you shouldn’t have had to suffer! Hadn’t you already been through enough already?”  
Sam stood in shocked silence. It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He let Gabe’s words hang in the air, then lunged forward, catching Gabe in a tight embrace. Gabe grunted in surprise, and tentatively raised his arms to return the hug. He took the opportunity to sneak in a few deep inhales of Sam’s hair and bury his face in his neck. Sam tightened the hug and decided he didn’t mind, it was nice to have contact with someone real- not some facsimile Lucifer or his own mind had created. Sam thought back to when he first met Gabriel as the janitor in the strange case of tabloid deaths. They had stood in the dead professor’s office and Sam was almost positive at the time that he was being flirted with. More ass than a toilet seat? Then the janitor looked him up and down and smirked. Sam had flirted back casually, asking about room 669 even though he already knew the answer, he just wanted to see what the guy would do. The janitor had just leveled him with a look, twitching an eyebrow as if challenging him to continue. But Sam had backed down, putting his mind back on the case, annoyed with himself for letting his professionalism slip for a moment. If Dean had noticed the flirting, he hadn’t said anything, or Sam wouldn’t have ever heard the end of it. Fortunately Dean had been too busy stuffing his face. Sam was sure meeting Gabriel that time was no coincidence, knowing what he knew now. What were the odds of an archangel meeting the true vessels of his two older brothers and him not knowing it? Then chasing after them?  
Sam realized he had been holding Gabe for longer than would be acceptable for a platonic hug. He cleared his throat, breaking the spell, and the two stepped back, not meeting eyes.  
“I guess we better get back to planning my confrontation with Lucifer,” Sam said, cheeks pink.  
Gabriel seemed grateful for the change in subject. “Hey,” he said, eyes lighting up in realization, “I just remembered, I was supposed to ask if you knew anything about what Luci was going to use to bust open the Pearly Gates. Any clues?”  
Sam shook his head, drawing his brows together. “No,” he said, “but maybe I can sneak a peek now and see what he’s seeing. Let’s go back to the motel-” he flushed brighter and paused, “on second thought, let’s go somewhere else instead.” Gabe’s smirk returned, which actually comforted Sam- seeing the archangel so vulnerable was disturbing something inside of Sam that he wasn’t really ready to address.  
Sam blinked his eyes, and they were transported to another motel- this one had a ratty couch and a poorly put together Christmas tree. There were a few pieces of ripped paper on the floor- the remnants of unwrapping presents. Sam smiled sadly at the scene, missing Dean again. This was where he gave his big brother the amulet when dad wasn’t there for Christmas. Dean always did his best to take care of him, and Sam always felt like a burden on his big brother- like he could never really convey to Dean how much he meant to him. Giving him the necklace was the best he could do at the time, and he was sure Dean would wear it a while and then forget about it- who would want to wear something weird like that that his little brother had given him? But Dean had worn it every day since Sam gave it to him. It let him know how important he was to his brother, even if the words could never be said- Dean wasn’t good at things like that. And when Dean actually gave the amulet to Castiel- that had been almost earth-shattering; Sam suddenly realized exactly how much Cas meant to Dean, if he trusted Cas to keep it in attempt to find God. Though Sam suspected there was more to it than that. The way that Cas looked at his brother, the way he stood in his personal space- Cas never did that to Sam. He wasn’t complaining, of course, Dean and Cas obviously belonged together. There probably wasn’t a chance of them ever getting together considering it was the end of the world and everything-  
“Holy shit Sam,” Gabe said snorting, “you mind stopping it with the whole inner monologue thing? This isn’t film noir B. T. Dub. It’s reaching creepy territory- you talking about our brothers like that and everything. Besides, I’m pretty sure they were getting it on as recently as this morning, judging by the sounds they were making.” Gabe closed his eyes and shuddered.  
Sam’s face was red again, and he sputtered, “What? They are-”  
“Yeah,” said Gabe, clearly in no mood to discuss it, “like rabbits I’m sure. Moving on,” Gabe clapped his hands together, smiling. “You think you could take a quick peek out at Luci and see what he’s got going on out there? I’d like to see what we’re up against so we can get it done. You need him out, I need you in…” Gabe trailed off suggestively.  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he snorted at the poor innuendo but didn’t respond. “Yeah sure, I’ll see if I can surface without him noticing.”  
Sam sat on the worn sofa and leaned back and closed his eyes. The blackness drained away quickly and he could see the fuzzy outlines of a room. He blinked and looked around. There was a redheaded woman standing by the door, walking (more like gliding) toward him. Sam couldn’t move on his own and didn’t push to try. He didn't’ want Lucifer to know he was there yet, so he just observed. He watched as his hands held up a long golden horn, eyes focused on the patterns engraved on it. Sam saw them morph and change and he could sense power there. He couldn’t hear what was being said between Lucifer and the woman, but he got the impression she was trying to be seductive. Sam withdrew quickly so he didn’t have to witness any of _that,_ thank you very much.  
He opened his eyes and shook his head. Gabe was now on the couch next to him, only about ten inches away from him, intently studying his face.  
“What did you see?” he asked eagerly, “was it a weapon?”  
Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was,” he said, “it was some kind of horn? Like, about three feet long and engraved…” Sam watched as the color drained out of Gabriel’s face. “What is it?” Sam gripped Gabe’s arm to pull back his attention.  
Gabe was wide-eyed and blinking. He breathed out, “I can’t believe it.” Sam waited for him to continue, and had to shake him lightly when his eyes glazed, staring through Sam.  
“It’s my-” Gabe shook his head, starting over, “It was _supposed_ to be mine. My Dad made it for me with the intent of me using it like a damn party favor to announce things and whatnot. But He made it too strong, so I never got my hands on it.” Gabe stood and started pacing, talking aloud more than actually to Sam. “I wondered what happened to it- it was widely assumed that I had it with me when I left, but I never actually got my hands on it. I wonder if Lucifer’s had it this whole time. Huh.” Gabe stopped, finally looking at Sam.  
Sam had his mouth hanging slightly open. “So it is a weapon?” he asked, “Like, a deadly one?”  
Gabe nodded, starting to pace again. “If the wrong person uses it, it is,” he said running a hand down his face in frustration. “Dad got carried away in the early days with making cool shit. It was kind of a hobby of his, I guess. Like the Ark? Yeah Raiders was pretty on the money with that one.” Gabe sat suddenly on the couch, knees touching Sam’s, his hand hovering over Sam’s thigh, then pulling back. “This is bad. That thing can control people. Control me, to be specific.” Sam was looking down where they were touching. Gabe grabbed Sam’s thigh after all, squeezing it to gain his attention. Sam’s head shot up, eyes wide.  
“I-I think,” Sam stuttered out quickly, ignoring the warm feeling shooting up his thigh to his groin. Not the time for that. “I think he’s going to use it to call the angels to open the gate. I’m not completely sure, but I am just getting little blips of information now.”  
Gabe nodded and bit his lip, looking away, but his hand stayed where it was, thumb running small circles on Sam’s inner thigh. Sam tried to keep his mind blank as possible so Gabe couldn’t hear his thoughts.  
Gabe stood again and turned his back to Sam. “If Lucifer blows that horn,” he said, walking to the window and peeking around the blinds, “it won’t call them, it will shatter the gate and rain destruction on earth, wiping out what little is left here.” He looked back to Sam. “Are you ready to face him yet? I need to get out of here and talk to Dad about this, he might know what to do-”  
Sam sprung up and crossed the room in two giant steps, in Gabe’s face in a second, surprising him.  
“He’s here?” Sam said excitedly, “He came back? When did He come back? Where was He?”  
Gabe smiled gently into Sam’s hopeful face. He sighed. “Sammy, he never was really gone. He just sidelined himself in favor of letting his wayward children find their own way in the world. Maybe a bad idea, but he is doing his best to make up for it now. In fact, I think you might have already met him? Chuck?”  
Sam gasped, “The prophet? Are you serious? He was with us the whole time? What about the amulet, why didn’t that work?” Sam’s eyes grew wide, “Holy shit, I threatened to kill him if he kept writing…”  
Gabe laid a hand on Sam’s chest to calm him. “Okay there, Bullwinkle, you can ask Him yourself, we just need to get you out of here.”  
Sam nodded. He blinked and unconsciously placed his hand on the back of the arm Gabe had on his chest, pulling him slightly closer. “Will you be there with me? When I face Lucifer?”  
Gabe flinched. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m pretty sure you have to do that by yourself. Although nothing would make me happier than smiting the fuck out of my bro just for the shitty way he’s been treating you.”  
Sam shook his head and looked down. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who said yes, I got what I deserved. I deserve worse, really, if I had stayed with Dean they wouldn’t have found me and I wouldn’t have helped Lucifer destroy the whole world. It’s on me.”  
Gabriel hooked his finger under Sam’s chin and brought his gaze up to his own. Gabriel’s eyes were different. Instead of the sparkling mirth Sam was used to seeing there, or even the new sadness he had seen, they were full of the fury associated with serious Biblical Archangel wrath. Gabriel spoke in a low, steady voice, nostrils flaring, “Don’t you _ever_ do that, Sam,” he growled, “this is not your fault. Not your fuck-up or responsibility to fix. That falls on us, me and my Dad and Cas too. It’s our mess, so we’ll clean it up. It’s our job to protect you and your brother.”  
Sam’s heart was pounding as he realized the proximity of the two of them. Their noses were almost touching, and he could feel Gabe’s breath on his chin. He had to look down at him, but Gabe seemed larger than the room at that moment. Sam was suddenly struck with the notion that he _was_ larger than the room, bigger than the Chrysler building, maybe even the Sears Tower itself. This creature, that he was currently sharing air with, air that technically didn’t actually exist except in Sam’s head, was more powerful that Sam could fathom. And he was inches away from his face and the air was growing heavy. Sam’s tongue darted out and licked his lip, breaking Gabe’s eye contact. He watched something flit across the archangel’s face, and then the sparkle was back. Sam dove in and caught him in a light kiss. He pulled back and looked down into Gabe’s shocked face, thinking he might have read that wrong. Sam started to let go of Gabe’s arm when the angel jumped up mashing their lips together passionately. Sam smiled into the kiss and melted into the smaller lips. Gabe ran his tongue out, testing, and Sam immediately opened up, sucking on his tongue, causing a moan from Gabe. Instantly, Gabe had jumped up and wrapped his legs around Sam’s waist, clinging to him, the kiss growing heated and desperate. Sam wrapped an arm around Gabriel’s lower back, pulling them impossibly closer, their hips grinding. They simultaneously emitted a groan into each other’s mouth. Sam stumbled back until his calves hit the edge of the couch, knocking him into a seated position, Gabe’s legs still tight around him. Gabriel already had his hands under Sam’s shirt, caressing his back and pinching his nipples, causing Sam to roll his hips, pleasure rocketing through them both.  
“This is probably…” gasped Sam, trying to form a coherent thought, “not the time for this, or the place really.” Gabe drew back to look into his eyes, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.  
“You’re probably right,” he said, “I guess we should stop.” He rolled his hips down, his erection pressing into Sam’s, with just the right amount of friction. Sam moaned and closed his eyes. He opened them with a predatory look. Gabe’s smirk faltered and he found himself flipped onto his back, laying on a soft bed, under a blue sky. Sam was rutting down into him, causing the archangel to arch up to meet his thrusts. Sam’s ability to change his surroundings was getting stronger, and he knew he had to strike soon.  
Sam kissed Gabe hard and slow, then pulled back, looking down into his eyes. Gabe was searching his face, a crease between his eyes. Sam smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.  
“We need to really stop, though,” he said. The disappointment that crossed Gabe’s face was gone in a flash, but Sam had caught it, dipping down for another kiss. “I meant for now,” he reassured Gabriel.  
Gabe sighed and rolled his eyes. “Alright,” he drawled, “business before pleasure. And I do mean pleasure.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, sliding his hand down to grope Sam’s ass. Sam thrust forward one last time, breaking the confident look on the archangel’s face.  
Sam sat back on his heels and smiled down at Gabe laid out before him. This was unexpected, but Sam found it to be more comfortable than he would have thought. He smiled showing his dimples and tried to will his erection away. Gabe leered at him and put his hands behind his head submissively and wiggled his hips, drawing Sam’s eyes back to his crotch.  
Sam laughed, standing, and pulled a now grumpy Gabe up to stand with him.  
“Well, Sammy,” he said, “now that I have a spectacular pair of blue balls happening here, I have to leave to go talk to my Dad.”  
Sam nodded, suddenly very sober. Gabriel wrapped his arms around his middle and buried his face in his chest. Sam kissed the top of his head, and they reluctantly moved away from each other.  
Gabe tilted his head, listening. “Ah, they’re calling me,” he said, pointing at the sky, “it’s probably good we stopped before we really got down to it. Got down to some sex, if you know what I mean.” Sam snorted at the pointed reference to the first time they met.  
Gabe reached up and ran his thumb over Sam’s lower lip. “You can do this, kiddo, you’re strong enough. Just call him here and tell him to get the fuck out.” Gabe looked at the sky. “Geez okay,” he said, “get the stick out of your butt, Cassie, I’m coming.” He winked at Sam and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bothered me why Gabriel took it upon himself to teach a lesson to Sam about his brother dying. It's not like the other angels knew where he was and wanted him to help start the apocalypse. He says later in Changing Channels that he just wants it to be over, but back in Mystery Spot he could have just left it alone and Dean would have gone to Hell anyway. Why bother even fucking with him? Well, good Tv and fucking awesome Richard Speight Jr, obviously.  
> But in my twisty little ship-it-or-die mind there were reasons. Sexy reasons.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied dubious consent, but in the past tense. 
> 
> It feels like a short chapter, but I don't want to rush the next one, so I went ahead and posted it.
> 
> Again, editing nightmare, blah blah blah
> 
> I love you all!!!! Thank you for sticking with me through my first (and probably waaay too long) fic.

Chuck leaned over Gabriel’s vessel and continued to check vitals. It had been about 45 minutes, and Castiel was ready to call him back from Sam’s mind. Cas stripped off his trench coat, feeling the heat in his newly human body, and carefully stepped over the spent spell ingredients and crouched down to whisper in Gabe’s ear. Dean was stationed by the door, holding his knife and the Colt. He kept an ear pressed to it, listening to any activity outside. The plan was to wake Gabe and then go directly to Lucifer’s “throne room”. They still had no idea what it was that Lucifer planned to use to battle Heaven, but they hoped it would be something they could use too. Some kind of weapon they could use to wipe out the demons and break into Heaven. Once that happened, the angels and Chuck would get charged up and confront the angels. Hopefully they could be stalled long enough for Chuck to power up and restore everything to the original timeline. Simple, right? Dean shook his head and just hoped no one dies in the process. That would complicate things, since no one was strong enough to resurrect any of them.   
Dean glanced back at the men on the floor. That’s what they were now. Just men. Granted they were men who had been around since the literal dawn of time, and one of them actually made all the things that existed, but now they looked so ordinary. So vulnerable.   
Castiel was chanting in Enochian into Gabe’s ear when the ex-archangel began to stir. He blinked his eyes open, and Chuck looked worriedly into his face.   
“You okay?” Chuck rubbed Gabriel’s back as he sat up.  
Gabe nodded and shook off a chill. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m good.” He looked around the room for Dean. “Hey Dean, just wanted you to know Sammy’s okay, he’s getting stronger. I’m positive he can overpower Lucifer- he’s going to find him and kick his ass to the curb as we speak.”  
Dean nodded in relief, and holstered the Colt and started grabbing what they needed for the raid. He grabbed Cas’ coat off the floor and shook it out to roll it into the pack he was holding. Something fell from the pocket.  
Gabriel turned to Chuck. “Dad, you are _not_ going to believe this, but the juice Luci’s got? None other than that trumpet o’ death you whittled out for me before the um, incident.” Chuck’s eyes went wide. He sputtered, “You-you saw it, where is it- holy shit-” Chuck grabbed Gabe’s shoulders, “We have to get that thing before he tries to use it!” He covered his face with his hands and muttered what sounded like, “Geez, the dinosaurs…”  
Gabriel looked grim. “I know he has it with him right now. He hadn’t tried using it, and hopefully he won’t before Sammy can kick him out.” Chuck nodded, looking pale.

Dean watched Castiel who was listening intently, a feeling of dread growing in his stomach. He had no idea what the horn could do, but he could see that Cas was getting anxious. He could feel it. Automatically, Dean stepped over to Cas and helped him stand and wrapped an arm protectively around him. Cas glanced at him, giving Dean a pitiful smile. His grace was gone. It had happened much faster this time, and he looked a little shell-shocked. 

Chuck stood up, pulling Gabe with him, heading to the door. He stopped short, and Gabe ran into him from behind as he stooped to pick up what Dean dropped.   
“What’s this?” he asked, fiddling open the small bundle of silk, “Where did this come from?”  
“It’s mine,” said Cas and Dean simultaneously. They looked at each other in surprise.  
Chuck shook his head, as if to clear it. “Where is the other one?”   
Dean looked back and forth between Chuck and Cas. “I don’t know,” said Dean, “I got that from the witches.” He looked at Cas, confused. “Or Cas got it from the witches, I don’t know.”  
Cas nodded. He stepped over to Chuck. “I brought over some roses from my timeline, but I don’t know if these are it.” Cas reached out and took one of the dried blooms from the bundle. It vibrated as he touched it, and Dean watched as it shifted in and out of existence. “I also have a memory of taking a similar bundle from the witches when Dean rescued me.”  
Chuck sucked in a breath. “This is bad,” he said, “really bad. Come on, we don’t have much time.”  
Gabriel had his brows drawn together, looking between Cas and Dean, but didn’t say anything.   
They headed out the door, weapons in hand, and ran to the stairwell. There were no demons in the hallway, but there were a few on the landing when they climbed to the next floor up. After a short skirmish, they jumped over the demon corpses and headed up another two flights.   
Chuck pressed his ear to the door. His listened intently.   
“There are sentries posted outside the door of what seems to be a conference room,” he said, “I can only assume it’s where Lucifer is.” He held up a finger for silence, still listening. “Yeah that’s him, he’s telling someone that he knows we are here.”

Dean chuckled nervously. “Like Star Wars, right?” The other three stared at him blankly. Dean couldn’t tell if they didn’t get the reference or he was just being inappropriately quippy. He dropped his smile and cleared his throat.  
“I’ll take the lead, Cas behind me and we’ll take care of the sentries,” Dean said, moving in front of the others, “Chuck, you come in behind us and pull Sam out if you can, hopefully distracting Lucifer long enough for Gabe to get the horn.” The rest were nodding at him, which gave Dean a strange flip-flop feeling that had to be pushed away for the sake of making their move.   
Dean cracked the door open quietly, peeking out down the hallway. The two guards were barely standing at attention, and one had what looked like an early 90’s era Gameboy in his hands, having a heated game of who knows what. The other was spinning an angel blade and humming off-key. Dean rolled his eyes and motioned for Cas to follow him. They moved silently into the hall, ducking behind an overturned file cabinet. Dean motioned for Chuck and Gabe to take their spot while they made their attack. Dean held up a hand, keeping an eye on the demons, and counted, _1...2...3…_

 

********

 

Sam stood in a large wooded clearing, steeling himself to call Lucifer to him. He recognized it as the field from one of his best memories of Dean, when they set fireworks off that one time and burned the whole field down. He hoped it would make him stronger to be here, and maybe the memory of Dean would make him strong. Sam tilted his head a moment. He supposed he might be able to call up an actual memory of Dean right then. Call it moral support.  
“Hiya Sammy,” came a familiar voice from behind Sam.   
Sam sighed in relief and turned around smiling. His eyes widened at Lucifer standing about 20 feet away, with a shit-eating grin on his face.  
“Y-You,” Sam stuttered, “what did you do with Dean?”  
Lucifer chuckled, still with Dean’s voice. “Do with him? You do realize none of this real, right?”  
Sam grimaced and tried to pull the look of pure terror off his face, and resist the urge to run.  
Lucifer sauntered closer, hands in his pockets, mimicking Dean’s bow-legged walk. His grin turned into a leer as he switched to his usual Nick-the-vessel voice.   
“Well, I’m real, Sam,” he said, “I’m the only real thing here. Why have you been hiding from me?”  
Sam took and deep breath, and looked the devil dead in the eye. “I want you to leave,” he said through gritted teeth.   
Lucifer held his hands in a placating gesture, eyebrows raised in mock innocence.  
“Now _why_ would you want that, Sam? Because my little brother said you should?” Lucifer was standing 10 feet from Sam now.   
“Stay back,” Sam warned, looking around for a weapon.  
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” crooned Lucifer, “how do you know that was even Gabriel? Maybe it was just me,” he smirked at Sam’s horrified expression.  
“No, that’s not possible, it was him, it had to be,” Sam sputtered.  
“Sam, I don’t know why you continue to fight this,” Lucifer pulled a candy bar from his pocket, peeling it open and taking a bite. “You and I,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate, “are meant to be.”  
Sam stumbled back a little, losing some of the resolve he had earlier. It couldn’t be, Gabriel was real. All of that was _real._ Sam watched as Lucifer looked around himself looking amused. Sam saw the edges of the field starting to crumble. He remembered what Gabe had said about Lucifer trying to manipulate him.   
“It’s just you and me, Sam. Always was, always will be. Your brother isn’t coming, Gabe isn’t rescuing you, it’s just you and me. I said I would always take care of you,” Lucifer was closer to Sam than ever, “and I have so far, haven’t I? I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you could ever need in this life. A wife and kids, a dream job, a house and a car,” Lucifer waggled his eyes suggestively, “all the sex you wanted, whenever you wanted it.”   
Sam watched in unmasked horror as Lucifer transformed into Jess, dressed in the nurse costume she wore the week she was killed. She ran her fingertip along the edge of her half-buttoned shirt, fluttering her eyelashes. Sam felt violently ill.  
Lucifer stepped a little bit closer, hips swaying, reaching out and dragging her knuckles across Sam’s chest. “I thought you enjoyed it, Sam,” she said in Jess’ Voice, “I thought we had something special. I thought that we had _fire_ between us.”  
Sam came out of his stupor suddenly, narrowing his eyes, flashing them to the memory of the bedroom in the apartment he and Jess shared at Stamford. Lucifer looked around in surprise, but grabbed Sam by the bicep, holding him in place.   
Sam grabbed Lucifer’s hand, twisting it back, causing Lucifer to switch to his usual visage, Nick, but still dressed as a nurse.  
“I want you out,” Sam growled, “you no longer have permission to be here.”  
Lucifer started giggling, trying to pull away from Sam. “You don’t want to do that, Sammy,” he chuckled uneasily, “I can’t help you once you get out there.”  
Sam’s mouth twisted up into a smug grin, leveling Lucifer with a deadly stare. “I reject you, Lucifer!” Sam grabbed Lucifer’s other wrist and heaved, throwing him bodily at the ceiling. Lucifer slammed against it, arms and legs akimbo, shouting for Sam to stop. Flames erupted around him and Sam stepped back and watched Lucifer burn in an effigy to the pain he had caused Sam his whole life.   
Sam walked out the door of the apartment without looking back. He rounded the corner and headed to the staircase. He began to climb, slowly at first, then gaining momentum, taking two at a time. Leaping and gripping the railing, he shut his eyes and kept up his pace. Up and out. He had to get up and out.

Sam sucked in a breath, opening his eyes. There was noise all around him, and he could smell sulfur and smoke. He blinked, adjusting to the bright light in the room. He became aware that he was being held in someone’s lap. He twisted to look up- right into Dean’s eyes. His brother was there, looking right back, small smile lighting his worn face. He looked decades older.   
“Dean,” Sam rasped out, “Dean, I’m sorry-”   
Dean cut him off, “Sammy, shh, it’s okay,” he said, “I know you didn’t mean it, it’s not your fault. I’m here now, it’s okay. Can you stand?”  
Sam felt tears roll down the corners of his eyes to his ears. He smiled up at Dean.   
“Yeah, I can,” he responded, pulling himself into a sitting position, finally surveying the room. It was in complete chaos. Dean must have pulled him behind a cluster of rolling chairs while the others fought. He could see Gabriel pinned against a wall, the small redheaded woman holding him there, chanting. Before Sam could even struggle to his feet, he watched Chuck rush at her, shouting in Enochian. Dean yelled to Chuck and neatly tossed him the Colt which he caught one-handed and fired. Sam marveled at the ease with which the two worked together. The witch crumpled to the floor and Gabriel slid off the wall into a heap. Sam jumped up, shaking of the unfamiliar weight of his body, and darted to where Gabe lay. He saw Dean, from the corner of his eye, move to the door next to Cas to fight off any oncoming demons, each with an angel blade in hand.  
Sam skidded to the floor and scooped up Gabriel. He looked different than he had in Sam’s head. The archangel was in dire need of a haircut and was sporting a scruffy beard. He was entirely too thin, and he seemed so frail laying in Sam’s arms. Sam shook him slightly, looking down into his unconscious face.   
“Gabe!” he said, “Gabe wake up, I need you to wake up.” Gabe continued not to move and his head lolled over to the side. Sam felt panic climbing up his throat. Gabe wasn’t breathing. Was he that human now that he could die? Sam laid him down flat on the carpet, and tipped his head back to clear his airway. Sam was wracking his brain to remember the correct breath count along with chest compressions. He pinched Gabe’s nose and sealed his lips over his open mouth, breathing in. He paused and put his ear on the archangel’s chest. He cocked his head; he could hear a heartbeat, but Gabe still wasn’t breathing. He was unsure of what to do, so he came back up to do another breath. As he sealed his mouth around Gabe’s, a hand gripped his shirt and a tongue suddenly snuck out into Sam’s mouth, pulling him into a deep kiss. Startled, Sam pulled back looking into a very smirky, twinkly-eyed Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord.   
“Oh Sammy,” he said, eyes fluttering, “my hero.” Sammy pulled a bitch face, then whipped his head around at the sound of snorting laughter. Chuck was covering his mouth, doubled over with tears leaking down his face.  
“Oh, man,” Chuck said, wiping his eyes, “oh, he totally got you.”  
Sammy stared back with wide eyes at the very surreal scene of God, actual freaking GOD, laughing because Gabriel pretended to be dead so he could make out with Sam.   
Sam fought to stay upright at this realization.   
“Woah,” said Gabriel, suddenly concerned, “you okay there Sammy? Take it easy, you just got vacated, you might need a moment.”  
Sam nodded and let Gabe push him into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. Sammy looked out the window from his seat. He was greeted with the hideous landscape that was Chicago. The sky was stained red and plumes of smoke were causally wandering upward, and the crumbling remains of the skyline stuck up like the ribs of a discarded corpse. It was disturbing. Sam quickly squashed the guilt he was feeling; they clearly had some work to do- and if Sam had to guess, Lucifer had Nick’s vessel stashed somewhere and would be back here as soon as it was located.   
Gabriel had stood, and was talking to Chuck in a low, worried voice. In his hands was the trumpet Sam saw in his vision from inside his mind. It glowed in the hands of the ex-archangel, which gave Sam hope that Gabriel would be okay. Gabe looked back at Sam, a worried expression on as his face as he gestured to both Winchesters. Chuck placed a gentle hand on his arm, which visibly calmed him. It suddenly struck Sam that he was in the presence of God, the actual Creator and Father of all. He had managed to have faith even in the darkest of days in his life. Sam had always prayed, even when he felt that it was going unheard. He found comfort in his belief, and it helped him feel connected to something larger. He thought back on when he first met Castiel. He gushed over meeting an actual angel, which changed to disappointment when he met Uriel. They hadn’t lived up to the image he had of them in his head. They were less guardians than warriors and seemed to lack empathy. Eventually, Cas had showed him otherwise, by displaying open affection for his brother and by accepting Sam even though he was chosen to lead the ranks of Hell as Lucifer’s vessel. Castiel had become family to them somehow, and Sam watched as his brother slipped an arm around the angel’s waist in an almost unconscious gesture. Sam broke into a silly grin. Dean glanced over, catching his eye, and blushed deeply. He started to remove his arm from Cas, who grabbed his hand instead. Sam smirked and offered Dean a silent thumbs-up and a chuckle, shaking his head. It was the first time he had seen his brother openly admitting feelings toward anyone. Dean smiled softly, acknowledging Sam’s support, smirked, and turned to kiss Cas roughly on the mouth, to which Sam rolled his eyes and loudly said, “Ew! I don't need to see that.” 

 

********

 

Lucifer was circling the building. Fury wasn’t an adequate enough term to describe the feeling the rejection gave him. Sam was his _true_ vessel and how dare he push him out. He suspected somewhere in the beginning of things that it might be an issue, since Sam had so much resistance to Lucifer’s charms. Having that forethought in the beginning had saved him trouble in the present, and Lucifer congratulated himself for being prepared for this. He was in his true form, which was actually pretty surprising to him. He thought his depleted grace would mean he wouldn’t have even been able to leave Sam’s vessel, but the consumption of souls had given him enough substance to separate into his true form. His wings were sparse, and the feathers were falling apart, but having several pairs of wings more than made up for it.   
Lucifer looped around the tower one more time, getting a location on where he had stored Nick. The vessel was in a locked and guarded room on the bottom floor of the building, in case Lucifer was to make an escape on foot if things went south. It wasn’t nearly strong enough to hold him when he was at full capacity, but in his weakened state, it wouldn’t be a problem. And Nick saying yes wasn’t even in question- the man had been contained, waiting, in his own mind for years now, only alive by life support machines. Lucifer was sure he was itching to get back into action. The man had never morally objected to anything Lucifer did while in his vessel; in fact, Nick had become increasingly drawn to stay present during some of the more violent escapades Lucifer was involved with in those early days. Nick had displayed a hearty blood lust, and Lucifer could even feel Nick become instantly aroused when Lucifer would gut a human and let the blood pour over him. It delighted Lucifer to no end that this man was proof of mankind’s violent nature and perversion, and he adored the worship Nick would lay upon him after a particularly gruesome act. Lucifer would sometimes allow Nick to come forward enough to satisfy himself sexually in the aftermath of murder, in which Lucifer would allow himself to feel the release of pleasure. He truly was annoyed that Nick wasn’t his true vessel- the two of them were seamlessly compatible.  
Lucifer found a safe entrance into the building where the demons wouldn’t see him. He sneered at the disgusting creatures as they fought among themselves, no different than they had been when Hell was still below. He slipped into the room, compacting himself to fit, and entered into Nick’s dream.   
Nick was sitting on a couch, beer in hand, asleep in front of a tv and drooling on himself.   
“Nick, get up, we have work to do.”  
Nick started and sat up at attention. “Is that you?” he asked blearily, “we going to go kill now?” He sleepily rubbed his eyes and Lucifer smirked at how almost adorable his pet was.  
“I just need to hear the magic word, Nick,” Lucifer caressed Nick’s body from the outside, brushing his wings seductively over his crotch, dragging them slowly. Nick arched off the couch at the stimulation to his vessel and he groaned out a loud “Yes!” Lucifer grinned and took over.

 

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooo snap. Nick is a sicko. go figure.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things have been hectic and I'm sorry it took so long to post this. It was a struggle to get through, but I hope it makes sense. I'm sure my stories has some plot holes, feel free to point them out so I can backtrack and fix it. As Gabriel said, "Aw crap. I really hate continuity errors."
> 
> Loves and hugs and comment and such.

Lucifer rushed the stairs, taking them in short bursts of flight, lacking the strength to zap himself back up to his throne room. Nick’s vessel was a bit atrophied from years of disuse, and he was having a hard time healing him. He cursed loudly at not having forethought to save a couple souls for backup. Lucifer hit the emergency door with force enough to blow it off its hinges, and streaked down the hall at full speed. He was furious- and first on the to-do list was to rip Sam’s heart from his body and show it to him. The long-haired giant Winchester rejected him, and anyone who did that would pay the price. He would rein the full fury of his wrath upon him and smite him into dust. How _dare_ he push Lucifer away. He had been nothing but good to him. He had given him everything he had ever wanted; his own personal Heaven. It was as close to the real thing as possible. And soon there wasn’t going to _be_ a real Heaven. He would make damn sure of that. Run away? Fuck that. He would do what he did best: destroy the fuck out of everyone and everything that dared get in his way. They were all weak anyway. They deserved to be smote. Even his father at this point.  
Lucifer grimaced at that thought. But he didn’t have time for sentimental bullshit.

Lucifer jumped over two dead demons and around two more. He wanted to throttle Rowena’s already dead body for failing miserably at providing proper protection outside the door of the throne room. He sneered, wishing he could bring her back from the dead just to squeeze the life out of her a second time. And maybe repeat the process for eternity. And he would do exactly that as soon as his grace was at full power.

He scanned the room quickly, knowing they would already be gone, and would have taken the horn with them. He had to get to them quickly, before they had time to power up. He’d slaughter the Winchesters, kill his brother and the man who was with him, and drop Castiel off the side of the building for choosing the humans over his brothers. The traitor. 

 

********

 

They burst through the metal door at the top of the staircase at a frantic pace. The tower was broken, and the last floor they could climb to was a ragged mess, floor tiles and concrete laying in chunks all around them. No one was speaking at this time, but Cas caught a glimpse of Gabriel holding on to the back of Sam’s shirt. The ridiculous white suit Lucifer had been wearing was now covered in splatters of blood and dirt. Sam had removed the blazer, and was looking more like himself. Cas observed Dean glancing at Sam every few seconds, probably to make sure he didn’t disappear.

Chuck quickly dropped to the rubble-strewn floor and started rummaging through his backpack. He pulled two cans of spray paint out and hopped up to start drawing a sigil. Cas jogged to his side and took the other can and helped him with the outer circle. Cas recognized the spell, but there were major protection sigils on the inside. He read the letters, realizing that he may have to be in there as well. He was starting to get the impression that the horn was much stronger than he initially thought. Chuck did mention something about dinosaurs, and that was troubling. He had known Father had seen fit to destroy those creations before the Leviathans, but he had heard rumors that it was actually an accident.   
Cas stood back as Chuck completed the circle. He motioned for Dean and Sam to join him and pointed out the sigil. “You will need to be inside this protection,” Cas explained, “When the horn is blown, my Father is unsure how powerful it will be. And you might be at risk for spontaneous combustion.”   
Dean’s eyes went wide. “Don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” he said. “Will you be here with me?”  
Cas glanced at Chuck who nodded slightly.  
Cas took Dean’s hand and led him to the middle of the sigil. Sam followed automatically, and Dean wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders protectively. Cas smiled inwardly at the gesture; Dean would always look out for Sam with everything he had. It was what had gotten them this far. The love of family that stretched across time and space. It conquered death, and gave purpose. Cas looked again at his family, and breathed in, enjoying the moment before chaos, where it was quite possible they would be ripped apart.   
Sam sagged into his brother’s side, clearly comforted by his touch. 

Gabriel watched with a sad look in his eyes. He was gently holding the horn, running his fingers over the surface. He had a longing in his eyes that hit Cas in his chest. This was it. There was no going back. Everything that had happened in this timeline would soon be gone and Gabriel and Sam would be strangers again. Except not really. Cas wondered if Gabe could remember this, seeing as he could move through the portal to other timelines. That seemed worse, somehow. Gabe turned away from them, and lifted his horn to his lips, pointing it Heavenward. Chuck stood back and watched. Cas glanced at Sam and saw the wistful, awed look he was giving Gabriel. It was heartbreaking. 

Gabriel licked his bottom lip and placed them over the end of the horn. As he inhaled a large breath, the door to the roof exploded outward, Lucifer barreling through. Chuck spun around to face him, unarmed. Castiel and Gabriel watched in horror as Lucifer spun a blade in his hand and walked by Chuck, stabbing him almost carelessly. Castiel felt as though time had stopped and he barely felt the hard squeeze on his hand from Dean to keep him from leaving the sigil. Gabriel let out an inhuman shriek that caused Lucifer to pause in momentary confusion. Lucifer looked back Chuck and froze, eyes widening in realization, his lips parting in terror.  
Lucifer stumbled forward, dropping his blade and skidding to his knees, grasping Chuck in his arms. Tears welled and dribbled from his eyes as he looked down at his Father, who merely looked back with a thoughtful, sad expression while blood poured out of the chest wound inflicted by Lucifer.   
“Father,” whispered Lucifer, “Father, I’m so sorry...what have I done?”

Chuck raised a hand to caress the side of his tear streaked face, and looked at him lovingly, but stayed silent. Cas could see his blue eyes start to glaze over. 

From behind them a loud roar began vibrating through the air, not unlike that of a lion, which grew in volume, causing Cas to let go of Dean’s hand and cover his ears. Dean looked back into his eyes, frightened, and did the same. Cas spun around in time to see Gabriel, his form enveloped in golden fire. The trumpet glowed as its bellowing grew to a piercing scream that sent shock waves outward. Then the world went white.

When Cas opened his eyes, all he could see were blue wispy souls, floating through the air. He breathed in, disoriented but content, before he remembered what just happened. He realized he was laying on his back and sat up. Dean and Sam were also on the ground, but unconscious. Castiel looked around and saw Gabriel with the same stunned look, watching the souls floating through the air, heading upwards. The number seemed to double, then triple, and Gabe looked over the edge of the building drawing Cas’ eyes with him. Cas saw the souls escaping the demons below, finally free of the imprisonment in their own bodies. Demons fell by the thousands, dead. 

There was a noise behind them. Gabriel’s head whipped in the direction of where their Father lay, and Cas watched as Gabriel snapped out his three pairs of golden wings, shake them and stretch them, and with a deadly look on his face, he rushed Lucifer who was in battle stance with his blade ready. His bat-like wings were flared up and out, blocking Chuck from Cas’ view. He wasn’t moving as far as Cas could see. 

The archangels collided with enough force that a shockwave knocked Castiel onto his back again. The two shot up into the air, feathers and leather in a fury and blades clashing. The fight was brutal, and Gabriel was screaming, his eyes a violent gold. Lucifer’s eyes were red and deadly. Cas noted that he was starting to see his brothers’ true forms, and felt his own grace seeping back into him.

Castiel looked to his Father’s tiny limp vessel lying on the tar of the rooftop. Time seemed to slow down, as Cas stood and ran to his Father’s side. Chuck’s eyes were staring into nothing and a glaze had formed over the usually sharp and clear blue. His lips were parted and there was drying blood crusted there. Cas gently took his hand, looking down into his face. He was gone. He was gone and Cas didn’t stop it from happening. 

The battle in the air raged on, each brother equally matched in strength and fury. Cas felt a profound sadness rip through his core. His father was dead and his brothers would kill each other, further tearing his family apart again. They would lose everything.

As if on cue, there was a flash of light and a sound of wings, and Michael and Raphael appeared. Michael wore Adam Milligan, the youngest Winchester brother, and Cas felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t been able to save him in this timeline. Michael’s face was impassive and still. Raphael had the ever-present sneer on her lips, and her arms crossed her chest as she watched her brothers fight mid-air. 

Rage settled in Castiel’s stomach. He stood. He felt a stretch and pull behind him as his wings unfurled and quaked with anger. How dare his childish stupid siblings just stand by and let their Father die and do nothing. How dare they squabble like children and ignore the pain everywhere around them. Were they so cool-blooded that they no longer cared for each other? His hurt masked by rage, he flew the length of space and stood before Michael and Raphael. He pulled his blade into his hand glowered at them. Michael seemed surprised to see him, but Raphael just looked at him in disdain. 

“What is it little brother?” asked Michael, with an eyebrow arched, “come to play with the big boys?” Raphael shot him a look and rolled her eyes, but pulled her blade from the eather.   
Castiel had to take several breaths before he could speak. “How can you just stand there,” he asked, “when our Father is lying dead over there? And by our own brother’s hand.” 

Michael’s face faltered and his eyes went wide as he looked over Cas’ shoulder. He frowned and scanned the area, eyes only briefly settling on the Winchester brothers who were still passed out in the sigil. 

“I see nothing,” Michael said. Cas furrowed his brow and whipped around, keeping his blade trained on Michael in case he was attempting to trick him. The spot where Chuck lay was empty. The blood was gone. The only evidence that anyone had been there before was the disturbed rubble and dirt. 

“He-he was just there,” he said lamely, “I was just with him, I know he was, Lucifer stabbed him.”

Raphael looked at him doubtfully, and pursed her lips. “Lucifer stabbed him. And killed Him you say?” Cas nodded numbly, still staring at the empty spot. 

Raphael looked tiredly at Michael and back at Castiel, narrowing her eyes. “How could Lucifer possibly kill Him. That’s not even possible.”

Cass shook his head. He finally met her gaze again. “He was almost human,” he said, “you closed the gates and he got left behind, cut off from the souls in Heaven. And he was right there, ask them,” he said, pointing skyward. 

Gabriel and Lucifer were hovering, glaring at one another, chests heaving, neither with significant injury. Michael whistled at the two and motioned them to come down. Gabriel closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Just great,” he muttered, “who invited these douchebags to the party?” Lucifer snorted, drawing all eyes on him. “What?” he said innocently, “I’m not the one who said it.” 

Gabriel and Lucifer touched down next to their siblings. The air was electric with tension. Cas took a step back, recognizing when he was outgunned. Michael swelled up, taking the lead position as he always had, and leveled each with an icy glare. No one but Cas flinched. 

“Was our Father here?” Michael asked, motioning to the spot where he had lain.  
Gabriel set his mouth in a line. “Yes, brother,” he growled, “He was here. I have been traveling with him for months now trying to fix this major timeline fuck up that one of Luci’s cronies caused.”

“Hey,” said Lucifer indignantly, “I wasn’t in on that. Dean was supposed to return to 2009. That dick Zachariah- not my fault.” He motioned at Michael and Raphael. “If you want to blame someone, there’s the culprits right there.”

Raphael managed to look scandalized and wrathful at the same time. “How dare you, you serpent-”

“No need for name calling, sister,” Lucifer interrupted, “I’m just saying if the two of you hadn’t bailed, all of us down here would have had our grace and the rogue angel wouldn’t have dabbled in spell work that he shouldn’t have.” 

Cas watched as Raphael’s eyes flashed and began to glow white. Her wings flared up and her chin raised and she looked down her nose at Lucifer. Michael held an arm out to keep her from attacking Lucifer. 

“Please,” said Michael coolly, “you have no room to talk about rogue angels, brother, you are evil incarnate and should be destroyed.”

“Well you aren’t exactly all rainbows and puppies yourself,” retorted Lucifer, bucking up to his older brother, “you bailed out just when things were beginning to get interesting.”

Gabriel gripped his head with both hands, blade still in one hand, horn in the other. He groaned loudly and sat down on the floor, with crossed legs. He rested his elbows on his knees and his wings shuddered and were shifted behind him, drooping with disinterest. “Same fight, different millennia,” he said, “go ahead and get the rulers out boys… no offence Ralph.” He was ignored by his siblings, as usual, so he snapped his fingers pulling a chocolate bar out of the air, tucked his blade under his arm, shifted the horn into the ether and took a big bite. “Way to go, guys, now I’m gonna eat my feelings.” He was ignored again.

Cas watched nervously, as the ozone around them began to spark. He had heard stories of when the four archangels would fight, and the destruction it would bring. If the lightning on the horizon and swirl of storm clouds was anything to judge by, it was about to be an intense battle. He needed to get the Winchesters out of harm’s way before the archangels shifted blame to them. He backed away slowly, edging closer to the boys and the sigil. Michael’s head snapped to him.

“Where do you think you’re going, Castiel?” Michael asked, eyebrow raised. All heads turned his direction.

Castiel froze, unable to answer.

“Hey, jerk,” Gabriel mumbled around his candy bar to Michael, “leave him out of this. All he’s done is try to clean up the mess _you_ created. Just go back to reminding us how much better than everyone you are.” Gabe flapped his hand at his brother dismissively.   
Michael narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. “Father left me in charge, and your childish attempts to undermine my authority-”

Lucifer coughed out a laugh, interrupting, “Authority!” he said, “You just lost the fight of the millennia and you think you have authority here? Try again, Michael, you might be able to boss around those soft-headed minions upstairs, but here…” he paused, arms gesturing the world around him, “Here _I_ am king. So piss off. Don’t let the Gates hit you in the ass on your way out.”

Raphael curled a lip in disgust, “Let me kill him, Michael,” she said, “and end this pointless conversation.”

“Oh Ralphy, temper temper,” sneered Lucifer, “always ready to get stabby to solve your problems. How’s that working out for you?”

“Let me show you,” she said between smiling gritted teeth. She pulled her blade and advanced on him. Michael reached out for her arm to pull her back. Lucifer thrust his chest forward, daring her to try. Gabriel rolled his eyes, not impressed by any of it.

As Castiel watched, everything stopped.

The archangels in front of him froze in place and the lightning stilled. Cas looked around scanning the tower floor. His eyes settled on Chuck. 

His Father was standing with his hands in his pockets and a sad smile on his face. The air around him glowed and he wore his usual hoodie and t-shirt and jeans combo. Cas rushed to his side.

“Are you okay, Father?” Castiel asked, hands hovering but not touching, “I saw you dead and then…”

Chuck smiled genuinely at him, and patted his shoulder. “Yeah I got that whole resurrection after death down to a science, so no worries.” Cas sighed deeply in relief.  
They looked at the scene before them, archangels ready to kill each other (except Gabriel who looked so done) and the Winchesters passed out on the ground. Chuck huffed a laugh out and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He looked at Cas.

 

“I guess we need to talk, huh?” he asked.

Cas nodded and looked at him curiously.Chuck took a seat on a large chunk of concrete and began.

“In the beginning, when I created the Universe, I made an infinite number of realities in which all possibilities could exist. It was very exciting at the time, because the stories would always change and be different for each species, but all realities would be tied somehow; with some common theme. An inevitable pattern in the chaos of life, if you will. If you want to call it destiny, that would be a partially correct description. But I created free will so that the species could have choice in how they moved about in their reality. The pattern that would emerge would be similar across realities, but it was alway exciting to see what the outcome would be. Then I became lonely and wanted to share all this beauty with someone. But I need them to be able to experience what I do and to help me watch over my creation. When I built the archangels, I made them able to exist on all planes and able to move through all realities. 

“Michael was my first son, and then Lucifer, Raphael, and the baby of the family, Gabriel.” He looked fondly at Gabe who was frozen mid-eyeroll. “They were active and boisterous children and they fully appreciated my creation, and I gave them full access to all realities and the ability to create like I do. They can resurrect, they can erase from existence, and they can create reality. They were happy children. Each had their own personality and I loved them all equally.”  
Chuck smiled sadly. “Except not really. I had my favorite, and it became apparent to the others that I was favoring Lucifer, my Light Bearer, my Morning Star. There began to be conflict between them, and the problems started.

“Dean once said that he was glad that he had free will and wasn’t a mindless machine like the angels,” Chuck paused, seeing the frown on Castiel’s face. “He isn’t wrong, not really,” Chuck said quickly. “I created the archangels with free will, but seeing how it was causing so much conflict amongst them, I created the other classes of angels to be soldiers, made to follow orders. But what they didn’t know, and were never told, was that they had free will written in their coding from the beginning, and it was up to them to discover it on their own. You were my perfect example of free will, Castiel,” Chuck said, smiling softly at him, “you remembered the mission, to love humanity how I love humanity, and you made a choice that went against your orders, but was in line with your understanding of right and wrong. Not an easy choice.

“But, I digress. The archangels were like children with no discipline and I was a young inexperienced father. And like every inexperienced parent, I tried to control them, and they would rebel in small ways. Obviously some more than others. Lucifer ended up being put into time out permanantly. 

“When I created humans, I tried to guide them and help them, answered every prayer, but after the garden incident, I realized that my ‘guidance’ was just me trying to control them again. And Lucifer’s part in it was a catalyst to me trying to ‘help’ even more. I would intervene when I deemed it necessary and made a lot of bad choices. Getting into battles of will with Lucifer was petty and caused so much damage to the humans I claimed to love so much. He could move across the planes of the different realities and do more damage than I could keep up with, even with the assistance of my archangels. The world became unstable. Nature, a species I created to govern itself, became unstable and floods and earthquakes and volcanos and other natural disasters occured so I had to do something to prevent the instability. When Michael and I built the box and trapped Lucifer, I decided to construct something that would tie in the universes and hold the realities together. I built the Tower, a place where all intersected and were tied together in a web of sorts, each beam spreading outward, beginning with the moment of creation. It kept the realities separate and safe from one another. Only I and the archangels could travel through the Tower’s epicenter and into the different timelines. In fact we can exist in multiple ones simultaneously. I gave the higher classes of angels the ability to travel along the beam of the timeline, moving back and forth through only that timeline. You have done this on many occasions, Castiel, and followed direct orders not to interfere with the patterns in that timeline. 

When Lucifer directed Zachariah to become a double agent, Zach convinced Michael to allow him to travel through the Tower’s epicenter, also known as the Garden, to show Dean an alternate timeline. This was strictly forbidden and was the beginning of the destruction of the Tower itself. I had no idea Lucifer would attack not only the agents of Heaven in all timelines, but would try and destroy the very thing holding them together. Thus the timeline disruptions. And time not running on the rotation of the earth around the sun anymore. I also was unaware of the portals Lucifer had created to shortcut between realities. He had safeguards in place to only allow archangels to travel through those, but as you know, there are ways to circumvent those safeguards. By coming here, you and Dean put the universes in danger of completely collapsing. And by remaining here, it will most certainly happen.” 

Castiel stood quietly, taking in everything his Father was telling him. He had so many questions, but no idea where to begin. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t form the words.

Chuck smiled warmly and asked the question for him. “You want to know why I saved you after Raphael blew you up all over my house?” Cas nodded dumbly.

“I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but…” he said smiling.

Castiel remembered the way Chuck had put his hand on his shoulder while they waited for Raphael to appear. He was touched but confused by the gesture at the time. 

“Your work wasn’t finished, Castiel, and it still isn’t. I need you to watch over Dean. He needs you more than ever. All he’s ever done, in all realities, all versions of himself, is take care of everyone around him. Every time, when faced with a choice, he will throw himself on the grenade. He will choose the world over his own life, and you need to be there for him to tell him that he doesn’t have to. You have always been tied to him, and there is no reality in creation that exists where you are not with him. Except the one you came from. This version of you.”  
Castiel finally found his tongue. “How come I could remember him?”  
Chuck shook his head and chuckled lightly. “That’s the real question, isn’t it? An angel of your class has never been able to see across realities the way you have. The only explanation I can come up with is that when I rebuilt you, something changed. It might have been because Dean’s soul is forever bound to your grace, filling in the cracks and gaps. It has made you connect to humanity in a way I have never seen an angel do. I will always bring you back, Castiel. I will always bring you back to Dean. It is the pattern and even I cannot control that. I’m just the architect of this creation, there is something bigger than me out there, I’m sure of it, even things I have left to learn.”

Castiel balked at this. He couldn’t believe that his Father wasn’t the one pulling the strings like he had been told from the beginning. That He had created them and had let them become who they wanted. And his father wasn’t infallible or immovable. He truly had created humans in His own image. 

Chuck stood and wandered amongst the archangels and looked fondly at each of them. “My children. Each one, with their flaws and mistakes, is perfect to me. And I love them all. But it’s time to make things right again. To set things back and restart from a point before this happened. I will make sure Zachariah keeps from being influenced by Lucifer, but that’s the best I can do. The rest will come to pass and I will rebuild the crumbling part of the Tower at the point where Dean is returned to his own timeline. That should do it.” Chuck clapped his hands and rubbed them together in a decisive action. 

Castiel rushed over to his side. “But Father,” he asked, “will I remember this? Will Dean remember?” His eyes were pleading as he clutched Chuck’s arm.

Chuck placed a hand over Cas’ heart in a soothing gesture, filling his grace with comfort, easing Castiel’s anxiety. “Dean will remember nothing,’ he stated, “But I’m unsure about you. I hadn’t fully expected you to do anything you have done, Castiel, you have surprised me over and over. You will go back and continue your mission, you will look for me, but you won’t find me. I will be watching, of course, but I have to protect my identity and will take that memory from you. It’s the only way to protect you in your future. There will be those who will want to hurt you, and for that I am truly sorry, but I can’t be revealed at this point in the game. Just know that I am with you. I have faith in you as you have always had faith in me.” 

Chuck clicked his finger like turning of a light switch, and the amulet appeared in his hand, glowing brightly. He clicked his finger again, and it went dark. He handed it to the angel and smiled. “It won’t work when you want it to, but like you, it will always make it back to Dean.”

Castiel took the amulet reverently and placed it around his neck,tucking it into his shirt over his heart. “Thank you Father,” he said, “I will try to make you proud.”

Chuck gripped his shoulder and looked him seriously in the eye. “You already have my approval, Castiel, I am proud of you. What I want for you most in this world is for you at accept yourself the way you accept me. And love yourself the way you love Dean.”

The angel looked over to the still form of Dean lying next to Sam. He nodded and smiled sadly. “May I say goodbye, Father?”

Chuck nodded emphatically, and clicked his finger at Dean. The hunter stirred, and sat up rubbing his eyes. He opened them and blinked up at Castiel, holding his hand out to be pulled up. Standing, he spotted the frozen archangels and Chuck. He grinned at Chuck lopsidedly, and gave him a short wave before turning to Cas.

“Hey Cas,” he said, moving close into his space, “I’m guessing we won?”

Cas nodded and held his tears back. Dean’s face instantly fell into a worried expression. “What’s the matter, are you okay?” He put his hand on the side of Cas’ face, and Cas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“Yes, Dean,” he said quietly, “I’m okay. I just don’t want to say goodbye.”

Dean dropped his hand and spun to look at Chuck. Chuck stood with his hands in his pockets with a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean, but it’s pretty important I put it all back together.”

Dean nodded and sighed in resignation. “I know. I just…” He turned back to Cas, “I just don’t want to say goodbye either.” He pulled Cas into a hug and buried his face into his neck. Cas returned the gesture, tears falling freely, soaking the hunter’s shirt collar. The warmth that spread through them was calming and reassuring. They pulled back and Dean placed a chaste kiss on Cas’ lips, lingering for a moment, them both breathing each other in. Cas stepped back and looked into Dean’s face, memorizing every shade of green in his eyes and the constellation of freckles on his nose. Dean searched his face in return and reached up and ran his thumb over Cas’ lip, in a familiar gesture that took Cas back to the weigh station and the first time Dean touched him. The other him.   
Cas and Dean turned back to Chuck, their hands laced together, and nodded. Chuck held up his hand clicked his finger. 

 

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's some blasphemy fo' yo' ass.
> 
> I have an epilogue and then that's it. I think. I might add a one shot to wrap up my Sabriel side story, they feel a little unfinished.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have been brought back to where we started. 
> 
> And with this chapter we return to cannon.
> 
> And then the epilogue which will be one last hurrah of my dirty dirty headcannon.

Dean leaned against the sink in the kitchenette of his hotel room glaring at the angel in front of him.  
“Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes.  
“Enough,” replied Zachariah warily, “Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens. You're the only person who can prove the devil wrong. Just say yes.”  
Dean flared his nostrils and held in his rage. “How do I know that this whole thing isn't one of your tricks? Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?”  
“The time for tricks is over.” The angel moved closer to Dean, treating him like a feral animal. “Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike. Before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die.”  
Dean felt guilt rip through him. He looked away and paced the room, putting distance between him and Zachariah and pretended to consider the offer. He thought about Sam. How he had lost him to Lucifer. How if he had just pulled his head out of his ass and stuck by Sam’s side none of that would come to pass. He wasn’t going to fall for this ruse. He silently prayed to Cas for help.  
“Nah,” he said defiantly, turning back to the angel.  
Zachariah looked incredulous, a slight shift from the thinly veiled disgust. “'Nah'? You telling me you haven't learned your lesson?”  
Dean sneered and tilted his chin out, stalling. “Oh, I've learned a lesson, all right. Just not the one you wanted to teach.”  
Zachariah growled angrily, “Well, I'll just have to teach it again! Because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you—”  
Dean vanished.  
Zachariah started. He turned and scanned the empty room, bewildered. “Son of a…”

********

Castiel stood on the side of the highway, blinking. He had just been on the rooftop on a building with Dean, having rescued Sam from Lucifer and escaping the archangels. He was unsure how he had gotten back here. Perhaps it was Gabriel.  
Something had changed. He felt different. If he was honest with himself about it, he had felt different since he was rebuilt after being smited at the prophet’s house. He remembered being blown to bits. He remembered being pulled into the future with Dean. He remembered… His Father. His Father had rescued them and set things right. He had given Castiel life again and new power, and had explained everything to him. Castiel tried to picture Him in his head, but it was a vast trueform that he had trouble focusing on it even just in memory. He knew that God had always been with him, even through his doubts.  
Cas touched the amulet through his shirt, remembering his quest to find his Father. He knew he had to look again. He would find Him, and help Dean. Always help Dean.  
Cas blinked as he was bombarded with a sudden tidal wave of memory. Memories of Dean flooded his mind with such force that his knees buckled and he almost collapsed. He clutched his head and closed his eyes.  
The weigh station, the woods where they watched each other come apart, the night by the fire when Dean gave himself, _all_ of himself to Cas, the waterfall in the woods when the simply held each other, and being ripped apart from Dean and dying. He remembered the alternate timeline. The Dean/no Dean that threatened to pull his mind to pieces. He remembered being pulled through the portal, the prophet Chuck and Gabriel, and seeing Dean again. The soft touches and longing and sorrow. His lips and eyelashes and the constellations of freckles on his face. He remembered the pieces of Dean’s soul that wound through his grace. And the bond that existed through all realities.  
And the Tower in the center of it all, connecting them eternally.  
Cas remembered that Dean wouldn’t remember. This realization settled into Cas’ chest, a cold weight. He needed to see him right away. To know Dean was safe. 

Cas looked at the time on his phone, a human gesture, but he felt it familiar and comforting. As if all things were right again. He was due to pick up Dean in 45 seconds. 

_Cas, buddy, I need you to zap your feathery ass here and come get me. I think I might be in trouble._

Castiel shoved his phone in his pocket, his fingers brushing over something as he took flight. He didn’t fully touch down as he gripped Dean by the shoulder and flew him back to the side of the highway. Zachariah had been in the room with Dean and Castiel’s heart stopped momentarily as he recalled Zachariah’s part in the universe's near destruction. 

 

********

Dean whipped his head around, feeling the familiar uneasiness in his gut from flying. Cas stood about three feet from him, a bit more distance between them than he was used to. Almost strange. He felt pulled to be closer to him, realizing for the first time that he didn’t mind him being in his personal space all the time.  
“That's pretty nice timing, Cas,” Dean said, watching the angel closely. Something was different.  
Cas had a soft knowing smile on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We had an appointment,” he said. Dean moved closer, searching Cas’ eyes. They were sad. He thought back on the Cas he had just left in 2014, and a pang of guilt stabbed him in the middle. He vowed that moment to never let happen to Cas what the other Dean had done to his Cas. He would protect him with his life like he did with all the people he loved. His eyes roved over the angel’s calm expression. He reached out and put his hand on Cas’ shoulder, needing the touch to ground him.  
“Don't ever change,” Dean said. His hand felt the warmth of Cas’ skin through his clothing, and he had a flash of a fantasy (memory?) where he and Cas were… He let his hand slide down Cas’ arm, hoping the angel didn’t see it in his mind. He flushed and looked away digging in his pocket for his phone.  
Cas seemed to sense his discomfort and quickly changed the subject, still gazing at him with a sad smile on his lips. “How did Zachariah find you?”  
Dean pulled out his phone and refused to meet Cas’ eyes.  
“Long story,” Dean said, “Let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?”  
Dean could feel Cas’ eyes on his face, and he shivered under the scrutiny. Yeah, something was very different. He wondered if Cas knew about 2014 Dean and Cas who clearly had been lovers at some point. His memory flashed on the way that 2014 Cas had stared at other Dean longingly, finally placing where he had seen that expression that Cas wore now. Longing. His face flushed harder.  
Cas didn’t seem to notice Dean’s slightly trembling hands. He saw Cas cock his head in his peripheral vision.  
“What are you doing?” Cas asked.  
Dean finished dialing and held his cell to his ear. “Something I should have done in the first place.”

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post the epilogue quickly. I ended this where I wanted to in my original plan for this fic, but I'm too deep in the woods now to just end it like that. Everyone deserves a little bedtime story smut. You earned it for sticking with it this long. I'm impressed with your tenacity. 
> 
> Alsooooooo...... ima gonna write that Sabriel fic especially for Dragonfli because they like my Gabriel and leave me awesome comments <3


	25. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a beast of a fic- I only meant it to be about 40,000 words, but it raged out of control. So thanks for hanging in there. 
> 
> WARNING: this chapter is filled with shameless smut and a bit of the fluff-fluff. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Also I realized that at some point I should mention that I quoted the show's transcripts quite a bit. Thank Chuck for the writers of this amazing show, without whom I wouldn't be inspired to start writing again because it makes me so damn happy. 
> 
> I love you all!!! Leave me a comment or hold me accountable for inconsistencies, I'd love a comment or two <3

Cas watched as Dean fumbled through a conversation with his brother. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull the man to his chest and bury his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and maybe suck a mark there. Cas felt a flush creep up his face. He dipped his hand in his pocket to retrieve his own phone to pretend to be on it to conceal his awkwardness- like he had seen humans do quite often. His fingers touched something else. Cas pulled a small bundle from his pocket. It was a faded piece of silk tied with a blue ribbon. He held it delicately in his fingers, turning it slowly. He gently pulled the ribbon to untie it, and opened the silk.   
Movement in front of Cas caused him to look up. Dean stepped into his space, looking at the bundle in his hands. Cas looked back down at the dried rose blooms, inhaling the fragrance that floated up. The smell pulled so many memories through his head at once that he felt dizzy. He looked up at Dean who was staring at him with wide eyes. Cas was very tempted to look through Dean’s thoughts but held back because he had agreed not to some time ago.   
Dean reached out with a shaky hand and ran his thumb along Cas’ lower lip, eliciting a soft moan for the angel. Cas’ eyes fluttered shut at the touch, anticipating their lips to touch. Nothing happened. Dean’s thumb remained at the corner of his mouth. Cas was afraid to open his eyes if it were to break the spell. He felt Dean withdraw his thumb with a gasp. Cas opened his eyes.  
Dean had stumbled a step backward, shaking his head. He looked at Cas, confusion in his eyes.  
“I-I’m sorry, Cas,” he said, “I don’t know what came over me.”  
Cas started to step forward, and paused, thinking better of it. “Dean,” he responded warily, “I can explain-”  
Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand. “We really need to get back to Baby and find a place to meet Sam. And frankly, I could use a shower.” He sniffed his armpit, and made a face, then laughed. Classic Dean move, to deflect with humor. Cas decided to let it go. He bundled up the rose blooms and re-tied the ribbon. Dean watched the way Cas’ hands moved over the silk. His hand reached out to it, running his finger over the bundle softly. He looked up at Cas again, face open.   
“Can I have it?” he asked quietly.   
Cas nodded silently, his grace reaching out to caress Dean’s fingers resting above Cas’ on the bundle. He handed it over to Dean who immediately put it to his nose and inhaled, his eyes closed. Cas watched Dean’s face carefully, his eyes roving over his eyelashes and cheekbones and full lips. He longed to pull him in and taste his lips, but he held still.  
Dean seemed to break out of a trace, and cleared his throat, looking away. He shoved the bundle in his pocket quickly and nodded at Cas. “Let’s go,” he said.  
Cas spread his wings from the ether and wrapped his arm around Dean from behind, taking him a bit but surprise, but the hunter didn’t move away. Cas’ right arm crossed Dean’s chest, and settled on top of the handprint on his left shoulder. Dean sucked in a sharp breath and held still, dropping his chin and relaxing. Cas flew to the Impala, setting Dean in the driver’s seat and himself in shotgun. Dean had his eyes closed, and they fluttered open as he turned to Cas. They stared at one another for a few long moments, Dean looking like he might have a question. But he said nothing and started the car and pulled onto the street, heading toward the highway to look for a motel. 

********

Dean was quite shaken up when they reached the seedy motel by the interstate. He tried to keep his face neutral, but he was never really able to hide the emotions he repressed. He kept from looking at Cas again for fear that the angel would be able to tell what he was thinking without even reading his mind.   
The short flight to his car had been the kicker, really. If he had any doubts about how he felt about the angel sitting in the passenger seat, they had been left behind on the quiet roadside where Cas had stood in the streetlamp light, regarding him with a look Dean couldn’t quite interpret. When Cas wrapped his arm around him, he was surprised because they usually flew with Cas’ hand gripping the top of his shoulder. The arm across his chest was familiar, but the memory didn’t resurface until Cas’ hand laid on top of his scar. He flashed back on Hell, in Cas’ arms, being held by the angel’s true form, being pulled from the pit. He remembered fighting the angel, and eventually surrendering and leaning back, letting himself be held.   
Dean thought about the roses in his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he needed them, but as soon as their fragrance hit him, he had to have them and keep them close. They meant something, but the memory wasn’t there. It was a wash of color and sensation.   
The motel room was like every motel room in every town in every state in America. There was a bed (this time only a king because Cas didn’t sleep and nothing else was available anyway), a table with a chair, a crappy mini coffee maker, and terrible art above the bed. Some abstract pastel crap from the early 90’s. The television was enormous but old, sticking out into the room intrusively. The bathroom had hard water stains in the tub and sink, and the florescent light flickered nonstop. 

Dean tossed his duffel on the bed and unzipped it to grab his shower stuff. He glanced at Cas, who was standing awkwardly by the door, and motioned him to sit down. Cas walked past the chair and sat on the bed. Dean stared. This hadn’t happened in a while, Cas had agreed to sit in the chair when he stayed over and quietly watch tv instead of sitting on the bed and watching Dean sleep. Dean bit his lip but said nothing. He kind of liked the idea of him being near- maybe he could talk the angel into lying next to him, on top of the covers of course.   
Dean sighed and smiled at Cas and went into the bathroom to take a shower. This was the usual protocol, but it felt different somehow. He could feel Cas’ presence in the room beyond the wall, and usually he didn’t even think about it. He wondered how thin the wall were. Cheap place like this probably had paper-thin walls, and everything could be heard from the room. 

Dean felt a flush of warmth in his gut. He suddenly remembered the times when Cas had spent the night in the room with him, or him and Sammy, and Dean had jacked off in the shower. Sammy usually had the decency to leave the room- a sort of unspoken agreement they had after being on the road most of their adult life. Dean would go check Baby’s fluids or clean her out and organize the supplies in the trunk. That was usually enough time for Sammy to do his business. And Sam would go check out the local library for research or pick up dinner. It was a good system and had worked a long time. 

Except that since Cas had joined the ranks, he had been in the motel rooms Dean and Sam had shared. And he didn’t know to leave when showers happened. Come to think of it, he _did_ leave when Sam took a shower- Dean figured the angel just liked following him around and helping him with the Impala. But when Dean was in the bathroom, Cas was in the room, often watching tv or staring at the wall. He had supposed, after the brothel incident, that the angel wasn’t interested in sex and maybe even couldn’t get off in general. Dean also figured that if Cas heard him, so what. He probably didn’t even know what Dean was up to. 

Dean turned on the shower and tested the water, impressed with the good water pressure for a change. He felt exceptionally gross from spending the last couple of days in the future where indoor plumbing was a thing of the past. He peeled his dirty clothes off and dropped them on the floor. Stepping into the heat of the shower and letting the water pound on his shoulders caused him to bite back a groan. He was suddenly self-conscious and felt exposed. That caused a shiver of pleasure to run up his spine. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. He ran his hands over his torso, soaping up, and lingering on his nipples, giving each a gentle twist. He flicked the hardened nubs and ran his hands up over his shoulders. The handprint scar was raised bumpy flesh still somewhat sensitive to the touch. He lined his fingers up with the handprint and thought about how Cas had held him earlier. How Cas’ body lined up against his back and the heat he felt in his belly and how he resisted leaning back into the angel and resting his head on his shoulder. When Cas had touched the scar, it was electric. He felt a burn, but not a painful burn- it was like a painful pleasure, an itch that needed scratching.   
Dean looked down at his dick as it started to look interested. He flushed, knowing full and well this wasn’t the first time he would have jerked off thinking about his best friend, but knowing the angel was in the other room changed things. He would usually fall back on Busty Asian Beauties for masturbating if Cas was there. It was still a concern that Cas could hear his prayers and he didn’t want to make things awkward. They were still getting to know each other, and he didn’t want to alienate Cas with his weird sex habits. He was already starting to stroke his shaft lightly, so he might as well do it- he’d just think of something else if his thinking got too close to prayer.  
Speaking of weird sex habits, Dean was still reeling over meeting future Cas while he was getting prepared to have an orgy. He had walked in and the ex-angel was stilling in a circle of women, smoothly talking them out of their panties. Dean chuckled to himself. It was hard to believe that his mild-mannered awkward friend had mastered the art of seduction. He only had one guess as to who had taught Cas all his moves. 

Dean grimaced with anger when he thought of the future version of himself. Arrogant asshole treating Cas the way he did. And Cas following that prick to the literal ends of the earth. It seemed very unfair, especially when you could see the way Cas would look at him, with the obvious affection and longing. Dean wondered if it was future Dean breaking Cas’ heart that caused his drug use. The guy had been higher than a Georgia pine. It affected Dean deeply- so deeply- that Other Dean could just sacrifice Cas like a pawn in his obsession to kill Lucifer. 

Dean looked down at his cock. This line of thinking wasn’t conducive to masturbation, clearly, and he was only half hard by now. He shrugged and grabbed the tiny bottle of motel shampoo to wash his hair. He could always rub one out later when he wasn’t so tired. 

As if on cue, exhaustion swept through his body so suddenly his knees felt weak. Dean hurried and rinsed off and grabbed one of those tiny motel towels to dry himself. He groaned when he realized he had left his clothing in the room, and would have to parade out in front of Cas sporting a half-chub hidden under a cheap thin towel. His cock perked up at that idea, and he stifled another groan- a completely different kind of groan. The picture in his mind- Cas sitting in the chair, wait- no, on the bed, looking up when Dean entered the room, steam rising behind him. He imagined that Cas’ eyes would go wide and he would gulp at Dean’s naked torso, his eyes averting. Dean would walk to the bed, straight at Cas, but moving around him at the last second to retrieve clothing from the bag next to him. Cas would breath in sharply, awkwardly, and his eyes would drag up from the ground, along Dean’s legs, dripping with water, to his erection pushing against a thin, worn, threadbare towel- the only thing between his cock and Cas’ plump lips… 

Dean’s mind suddenly flashed to Cas sucking his cock deep into his throat, then leaning over Cas fucking into his tight, wet hole, then Cas naked above him with a smirk on his face-

_Oh, crap._

Dean’s cock was _very_ interested now, making it very difficult to hold the towel down. This was ridiculous. He had never had fantasies that vivid or graphic about Cas before. Usually the fantasy was with a shy, reserved holy tax accountant, teaching him to touch himself or him awkwardly touching Dean, but _this,_ was new. The cocky way Cas had looked at him in his mind was so fucking hot that Dean could already feel the front of the pathetic towel soaking through with pre-come. He would have to jerk off now, and quickly, to avoid the embarrassment of walking out there in front of Cas. 

_Or…_

Maybe he should go out there and see what Cas’ reaction would really be, he rationalized, maybe Cas would fly away out of embarrassment and then Dean could spread out on the bed with a bottle of lube and really take care of himself. Or maybe Cas would stay and watch, curiosity about humans being the reason. Either way, Dean would get off and he could think about whatever he damn well pleased. 

Dean shot himself a sly grin in the mirror at the excitement of just thinking about Cas watching him come all over himself. He adjusted the towel, gripping it together at his hip instead, so his right thigh would be exposed when he walked. He liked being watched. There was something about it that made him come so fucking hard. 

In his very limited experience with men he had discovered this. He once had picked up a guy at a bar to come back to his room, but when they got there the guy wanted Dean to masturbate for him. He thought this was weird at first, but he went along with it, the guy had been smoking hot- deep blue eyes and dark hair, and Dean wanted to see the guy get turned on and maybe suck him off after. 

Dean had sat on the bed completely naked, his back against the headboard. He had gotten his lube and slicked up his hand feeling very nervous, but the guy had started breathing hard and sighing, gripping the armrests of the chair he had sat in to watch Dean. Dean had then decided to give him a show. He went all out too, finger fucking himself, moaning and babbling dirty talk pumping his cock furiously and coming so hard he cried out, his vision blacking out along the edges. He didn’t have to even return the favor to the guy; turned out the guy had come in his pants over Dean’s performance and was really pleased about it. The whole scenario occasionally showed up in his fantasies from then on, sometimes with different people sitting and watching. 

Having made up his mind, Dean took a deep breath and steeled himself. He slowly opened the bathroom door and stood with the steam billowing around him. Cas wasn’t on the bed. He was in the chair. But not just in the chair, but in the chair facing the bed with his back to Dean. And he didn’t turn around when Dean opened the door. Dean felt his cock swell even more, new fluid beading at the tip. Dean stared at Cas’ back, trying to decide what to do. He could just ask from here for Cas to get his bag, or he could walk around Cas to the bed, effectively having his back turned with his erection hidden. Neither option appealed to him, if he wanted a genuine reaction from the angel, he would have to turn toward Cas when he reached the bed. Then it might look to obvious.  
“Is everything alright, Dean?” Cas asked without turning around.

Dean realized he had been standing in the doorway for way too long, and now _he_ was the one to feel awkward. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, clearing his throat and blushing, “I just- I need to get my bag,” he said lamely. Cas nodded and continued to look straight ahead and Dean couldn’t get a read on him. He had no idea why he was suddenly acting like a newlywed virgin because it was way out of his character. He shook his head and decided to man up. 

He took off across the small room, his erection still throbbing between his legs, bouncing at the movement. He gripped the towel tighter then tried to relax. This was really no big deal, he just had to get his clothes and run back to the bathroom. He furrowed his brows, when had his plan to get a reaction out of Cas turned into him being shy and hiding in the bathroom? 

The moment of truth had come. He grabbed the bag, about to riffle through it, then saw he had zipped it shut the last time he was in it. He tried to pull it open with his left hand since his right still had a death-grip on the towel. He still hadn’t looked to see what Cas was looking at or if he had reacted at all. Dean could feel a deep flush spreading over his face and shoulders down to his chest. 

“Dean,” Cas rumbled in his deep gravelly voice, totally not making Dean gasp, “would you like some help?” 

Dean‘s eyes widened and he looked at his tented towel then finally at Cas. The angel was sitting back in his chair comfortably, brows slightly raised, small relaxed smile at the corners of his mouth, and, dear God, seriously dilated pupils. He tilted his head back a bit and regarded Dean through his lashes. 

Dean’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t get a sound out when he opened it. He wasn’t expecting Cas to look this way; confident and cocky and looking at Dean in a predatory way, his eyes roving shamelessly over Dean’s body. Dean nodded.

Cas sat forward and stood in one fluid movement, his eyes locked on Dean’s. He walked, smile still teasing the corners of his mouth, and stood inches from Dean’s body. Dean could feel the heat radiating off of him, even through the trench coat. Cas leaned forward and reached, and Dean’s eyes automatically closed. He waited and nothing happened. His eyes flew open. Cas was still inches from him, but was now holding Dean’s bag and unzipping it for him.

“There you go,” Cas said casually, as if Dean’s leaking hard cock wasn’t close enough to rub against if he just leaned in a little more. Dean blinked and took the offered bag. Cas walked casually back to his chair, and slid back into it. 

“You can continue,” Cas said, “if that’s what you want, Dean.”

Dean stood there with his mouth slightly open. Was he asking what Dean thought he was asking? Was this some sort of proposition? Dean sat the bag back down and started to rummage. He was stalling. He had two options, get clothing and get changed, and they could forget this ever happened, or the lube he was now holding inside the bag could be put to good use. The decision was made with a quick _fuck it,_ and Dean chose lube, tossing the bag out of the way and dropping his towel exposing his aching erection to the whole world. Cas specifically. He snuck a glance at Cas and caught him licking his lower lip slowly and sucking it in and biting it. The angel shifted slightly in his seat. Dean climbed on the bed.

He sat in his favorite position, against the headboard, legs spread out and cock bobbing against his belly. He set the lube on his left side and began stroking himself with his right hand. Pulling the soft skin over hard muscle caused him to whimper. He looked up at Cas who was looking right back. Dean stroked a little slower and looked away. He could look anywhere but Cas’ face, because if he did that, it would be over before he even started. He picked a spot on the wall to look at and let his eyes unfocus. 

Cas moaned, and Dean’s head snapped back to him. Cas had his two middle shirt buttons open and tie flipped over his shoulder. His right hand was running in and out of the opening and Dean could see that he was probably tweaking his nipples. Dean bit back a moan and tried not to come right then. He felt his balls draw up so he gripped the base of his cock, stemming the orgasm. 

Cas’ lips were parted and red from being bitten, and Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away. Seeing Cas this way was extraordinary; eyes blown, flushed skin, bulge straining against his fly. Dean gasped and let go of his cock. He gripped the comforter on either side and humped the air involuntarily, trying desperately not to come. He watched as Cas ran his free hand down his torso to his groin, and palmed against himself. Dean moaned and gritted his teeth, but held on to the bed, his dick twitching and leaking. 

Cas unzipped his fly and continued to unbutton his shirt. He untied the backwards blue tie and pulled off the coat, blazer, and shirt all at once. He was bare chested with his pants undone. Dean leaned forward and strained to see if he could see Cas’ cock. His eyes flicked up to Cas’ face who was still watching him smiling that same way. The way that made Dean want to lick it off his mouth. 

“Dean,” he said huskily, “keep touching yourself.” Dean nodded and gripped himself again, stroking slow, making it last so he could see what Cas would do next. Cas hooked his thumbs and gracefully slid his pants and boxers over his thighs, toeing off his shoes and pulling off his socks in the process. He was then completely naked, sitting casually, his heavy erect cock curving up to his abdomen. Dean nearly drooled on himself. 

Dean grabbed the bottle of lube as soon as the wave of pleasure subsided and spread some on his fingers, fully aware he was about to take this somewhere there was no coming back from. He had never fingered himself in front of anyone but Rhonda Hurley, and that was years ago. He spread his legs further apart and pulled his knees up, exposing his most vulnerable area to the room and Cas’ greedy eyes. The pleasure wave that hit Dean was intense, just from being watched. Being watched by Cas. 

Dean pressed a finger to his hole and shivered. He looked back at Cas- the angel had turned slightly in the chair and was slouched back with one knee up with his heel resting on the chair, giving Dean an excellent view. Dean groaned at the sight and his finger slid in without much resistance. His mouth was watering and he knew he wanted nothing more than to see how much of Cas’ cock could fit in his mouth. He could remember how it tasted, and he wanted to lap up the pre-come dripping onto Cas’ stomach as the angel rubbed his chest but left his cock alone.   
Wait.

How could he remember how it tasted? Dean paused, panting, and stared at the angel incredulously. How could he possibly know how Cas tasted? Dean resumed fingering himself, adding a second while trying to remember when it was that he tasted Cas’ come. It was definitely working for him- he felt an intense burst of fire in his belly and he had to fight again not come. He couldn’t reach his prostate from this angle and groaned in frustration. 

Cas was still watching him from the chair, still keeping his hands off his own cock, which looked painfully swollen. Dean considered a moment. If he were to go over there, he could get a taste and see if that jogged his memory, and maybe Cas would get a little relief. Obviously the angel didn’t know what to do with it or he would have been stroking it by then. Dean had gotten up to three fingers, twisting and plunging alternately, and had stopped pulling his cock and remained squeezing at the base trying to draw the pleasure as long as possible. He wondered if his legs could even carry him across the room at that point.

Dean realized he had already made the decision when he found himself standing in front of Cas. The angel had his head tipped up and was still staring into Dean, his pose open and on display for Dean. Dean moved to his knees and nervously placed his hands on Cas’ thighs. They both gasped at the contact and Cas’ cocky look disappeared, replaced with a glazed lustful face, eyes half lidded. Dean slowly ran his palms up Cas’ inner thighs, digging in his fingers when he reached where Cas’ leg met his hip, not quite touching his erection yet. Dean kept his eyes locked on Cas’ as he leaned forward slowly and flicked his tongue out to taste the pre-come dripping out of Cas’ nearly purple cock. The angel moaned loudly and gripped the armrests of the chair, trying to hold his hips still.

Dean had definitely tasted this before. On instinct, he bent further and swallowed Cas’ entire length at once. He could get almost to the base, but pulled back and gripped it with his hand instead. Cas writhed and moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean knew Cas wouldn't last long, but all he wanted right then was to feel him in his mouth. He bobbed up and down, swirling his tongue around the tip, moaning into it with every sound that came from Cas’ mouth. He reached up blindly and found Cas’ nipples and began to pinch and rub his thumb over them. Cas gasped at the multiple sensations. Dean peeled Cas’ hand off of the chair’s armrest and place it on the back of his head, urging the angel to take control. Cas moaned wantonly and started pushing gently at first, but began fucking up into Dean’s mouth when Dean moved both hands to the outside of Cas’ hips and started pulling him deeper into his throat. Dean was sure the angel was about to come, given that his legs were vibrating under Dean’s hands, but instead, Cas stopped and pulled Dean off. Dean made a sound of protest until he realized Cas was pulling him up to his mouth to kiss him deep and filthy. Dean panted and moaned into the kiss and maneuvered to sit on Cas’ lap with one knee on either side of his’ hips. They grunted in unison as their cocks rubbed together, slick with Dean’s saliva and pre-come. Dean moved his hand to grip them both and stroked them firmly while he explored the angel’s mouth. Cas slid a hand off Dean’s hip around to his back, then down his spine to the crack of his ass, feeling for Dean’s already stretched hole. Dean stopped his hand, and breathed in sharply as Cas slipped a digit inside him. Cas stopped and looked at Dean to see if it was hurting him. Dean smirked and pushed down on Cas’ hand further burying his finger inside Dean. Cas’ eyes fluttered shut, as he pushed and pulled out, pausing to add another finger. Dean was filling the room with noises he didn’t know he could make, and Cas added a third and Dean was thrusting back on him, wanting more. Dean released his own cock from his grip and started stroking Cas again. He bit his lip and stared into Cas’ blue-ringed blown pupils, raising slightly off Cas’ lap. The angel got the message and pulled his hand from Dean’s stretched and pulsing hole, and gripped the hunter’s hips and raised him to help Dean press the tip of Cas’ cock against his opening. They both slowed their breathing as Dean slowly lowered himself, adding pressure until the head breached the tight ring of muscle made tighter by Dean’s position. He gasped and paused at the burn, relishing it. Cas ran his hands over Dean’s back and held his hips still to keep thrusting up until Dean was ready. One of his hands made its way to the back of Dean’s neck and he pulled him down for another kiss, this one more languid and less desperate. Dean sighed and let himself relax into it and slid a little further onto Cas’ cock. He was soon filled completely, his own leaking length trapped between them and his balls resting on Cas’ lower abdomen. He rested for a moment just to revel in feeling so full, so _complete._ The waves of pleasure moved through him and Cas, and Dean had to rest his forehead on Cas’ shoulder for a moment, overcome with emotion. When he had calmed himself enough, he ground his pelvis down on Cas to see what noises he could get the angel to make. He wasn’t disappointed when Cas began to moan and mumble in Enochian. He raised himself up a few inches and slowly slid down again. He threw his head back at the sensation. He gripped the armrests and pulled himself off all the way and slammed back down, surprising them both. Cas grabbed Dean’s cock and held it up so Dean could go deeper and not crush his balls. Dean cried out and set a rough rhythm. Cas started bucking up to meet his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping filled the room and Dean thought wildly that the rooms next door could probably hear them, and he thrust harder, leaning back a little to nail his prostate. The pleasure was almost unbearable, and right on cue, Cas stroked his cock one, two, three times and he was hit with an orgasm like a shotgun blast, coating himself and Cas in white stripes of come that seemed to go on forever. His hole gripped Cas over and over as he continued to pound down onto him. The angel pulled Dean forward and fucked his mouth with his tongue and with one last thrust, painted the insides of Dean with hot come and Dean just held on and rode out his orgasm. His head fell forward to Cas’ shoulder again and he wound his arms around to hold him tightly, once again overwhelmed with emotion. Cas pulled him in even closer, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and sucking gently. Dean knew there would be a mark there, but he couldn’t give a fuck. He liked it, really. Being marked again by Cas. 

Dean felt Cas’ dick soften and he shifted causing it to slide out, bringing a trickle of come with it. Dean chuckled against Cas’ skin and wondered how awkward it was going to be once they came down from their high. He was, for once, not really worried. It felt so right, so perfect, that he wondered why they hadn’t been doing this since they first met. Oh yeah, the apocalypse. Dean started giggling when he thought about being the Righteous Man and stopping Lucifer and being Michael’s sword and saving the world, and it all seemed small and far away in the wake of the best sex he’d ever had. 

He finally got the courage to sit up and look Cas in the eye. The angel peered up at him, flushed and thoroughly debauched. He had a blissful but confident look- one Dean had never seen before (or had he?) and he liked it. A lot. 

He dipped down for a gentle kiss. Cas’ lips moved back softly across his own. The kiss deepened and Cas mumbled into Dean’s mouth, “Maybe we should get cleaned up before we do this again.” 

Dean chucked and looked back into his eyes. “Can’t you just mojo us clean?” he asked.

Cas rolled his eyes and carefully lifted Dean up until the were both standing. Dean’s trembling thighs were dripping with Cas’ come as he stood, and Cas looked down and seemed to nod in approval. Dean’s eyebrows shot up in a silent question. 

Cas shrugged and twitched a smile. “I like being painted all over you.”

Dean bit back a moan at how hot that was and pulled Cas to the bathroom to clean up the old fashioned way. They showered together, touching and kissing and washing each other with reverence. Dean had never felt worshiped and cared for in his life, but now that he had it, he wanted to keep it forever. 

 

********

Cas laid with Dean, curled around him protectively, watching the hunter sleep. He sighed. He was dreading the conversation they would have to have when Dean woke up. Cas knew that Dean would feel hurt and abandoned now matter how Cas explained it. But it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully Dean would see that it was for the best, but it wasn’t likely considering how strong Dean’s emotions ran. He felt so deeply about everything, and Cas wouldn’t be able to save him from his pain. But he would rather Dean be angry with him than their bond be exploited by the angels out to force Dean to say yes. If they caught wind of this, they could use it to threaten and torture Dean, and Cas couldn’t let that happen. He had to put Dean’s welfare above all else, even his own selfish desires. 

But for a while, he would bask in the warmth of Dean’s body and watch his soul brightly shining and reaching back to twine with Cas’ grace. It had taken Cas by surprise to hear Dean’s longing for him from the shower, it was so loud, Cas couldn’t shut it off. He wanted to rush in there and tell Dean everything, about the dimensions and God and the Tower, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he had made a promise. 

When Dean had walked out of the bathroom dressed in nothing but a skimpy towel and a raging erection, Cas’ already half-hard cock sprang to life and he was overcome with want. He wanted to put his hands on the hunter and feel his skin beneath him. But he waited. He would wait for Dean to come to him. Cas knew he would, he could see Dean’s soul reaching out to him, tendrils of light stretching across the room, calling out to Cas’ grace. Cas had teased Dean about the bag just to get close to him, and it was so intense when Dean’s soul was in that close proximity to his grace that he impulsively stripped and got pulled into Dean’s orbit once again. There was no denying this man anything he wanted, and Cas _wanted._

Cas closed his eyes and held Dean tighter. 

********

 

Dean was pacing the room, agitated. He was at war in his head; on one hand he was angry because he wanted Cas more than anything he had ever wanted in his life, in fact, he never allowed himself to want things because he knew he would never be allowed to keep them and it was easier to just keep things superficial and stay detached. One the other hand, what Cas said made perfect sense. Those douchey flying dicks could use them against each other the same way they had used Sam and Dean against each other. And that would kill him knowing that they could hurt Cas. 

Cas sat on the bed, in his tax accountant suit, looking stoic. Dean knew it was bullshit, he could feel the misery and longing coming off him in waves. He decided to not take it out on Cas. The angel wanted to keep him safe.

Dean stopped pacing and plopped down on the bed next to Cas, startling him. He wrapped an arm around his chest and pushed him back on the bed. Dean climbed on top of him and wound his limbs around the angel, just holding him tightly. Cas had wrapped his legs and arms around him too and seemed to relax in relief. Dean felt the anxiety leave them and they just held each other. Dean’s eyes were prickling with tears, and he breathed in Cas’ smell and just let go. He sobbed for losing his mom and his dad losing himself to find her killer, and then giving his soul so Dean could live. He cried for Sammy never having a normal childhood. He cried for everything he had ever lost or pushed away, snot and tears and some drool soaking into the tan trench coat. Cas held on to him and just let him grieve. Dean felt so safe, not ever having felt that way before, he had no idea how much it was missing from his life. He needed to pour all his insecurities and sorrow into Cas, who took it gently and bore the burden with him. Dean began to feel lighter and his tears slowed until he was breathing slowly again. He sat up and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Cas smiled softly up at him, his eyes full of love and acceptance. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, with only a little embarrassment. Cas nodded and wiped a remaining tear from under Dean’s eye with his thumb then cupped Dean’s face. Dean leaned into his touch and felt calm again. 

He wanted to tell Cas so badly. He didn’t know how to say it, and it was stuck in his throat. Dean knew it might be his last chance since they were going to have to go back to pretending to just be friends. He didn’t know how he could do it. He would, though, anything for Cas. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, hoping it would make it easier. He felt Cas’ other hand brush against his cheek and cup the other side, gently framing Dean’s face. Dean opened his eyes, it was now or never. He took deep breath.

“Cas,” his voice cracked so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Cas, I have to say this because I don’t know if we’re going to live past tomorrow. I need you to know that I love you. So much that it hurts.” Tears began to slip from his eyes again and he tried to look away.

Cas held his face still and swiped away the new tears and his smile grew and his eyes began to sparkle. “I know, Dean,” he said, “I love you too. I’ve loved you since the moment my grace touched your soul in Hell and we were bound. I have belonged to you since that moment, and will always be yours.” 

Dean fell forward into Cas’ embrace once again, unable to respond, knowing it to be true. He was unhappy about having to pretend to protect them, but he was comforted knowing that Cas would always be there and maybe when they got though the apocalypse, end of the world or not, they could be together. He knew he would always be drawn to the angel like a magnet and would do anything to keep Cas safe even if it meant they had to wait. He could do that.   
For Cas. 

 

END  
***********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long, my fellow shippers, we shall meet again on the road someday when I get my shit together and write my Sabriel follow-up.
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
